They finally finished their modest lunch. The midday air hung heavy and hot, and the leaves by the river rustled lazily whenever the wind drifted through.
Melly kept pacing back and forth, her eyes flicking again and again toward the clothesline they had strung only a few hours earlier. She checked whether the laundry was dry, though it was clearly far too soon. Riven gave a quiet, amused sigh at his sister's impatience, but said nothing.
Meanwhile, Riven and the red-haired woman sat side by side on the riverbank. The sun was directly overhead, scattering dazzling shards of light across the rippling water.
Riven wanted to speak, but his tongue felt stiff. Back in his old world, he might have broken the silence with clumsy small talk: asking where she was from, what she did, or even something as bland as a comment about the weather. But here? In front of this mysterious woman?
It was then he realized something unsettling. Aside from his family, he had never truly been close to any woman. The thought left him awkward and unsure.
In the end, he asked the question he had raised earlier but never received an answer to.
"Are you feeling better now?" His voice came out soft. "Last night, I thought you were going to die."
Ashtoria turned her head. For a heartbeat, her eyes flickered, then she asked back, calm yet piercing,
"Why do you ask that? Do you… care about me?"
Riven blinked. The question caught him completely off guard. He sat in silence for several seconds before answering, after carefully weighing his words.
"…Of course."
Whatever scraps of empathy remained in him—frayed and worn thin after years of being gnawed away by hardship—he could not ignore what he had seen of her the night before. To pretend otherwise was impossible.
But Ashtoria was not finished.
"Why?" she pressed.
Her entire life, no one had ever cared about her. So she had to know why this man did, when he knew nothing of her, when she herself was a terrifying woman.
Riven muttered under his breath, repeating her question, "Why?" baffled at why she would bring it up at all. Then he added,
"After what you went through, how could I not feel empathy for you?"
"Why do you feel empathy for me?" Ashtoria asked again.
Riven frowned. The direction of this conversation was growing stranger by the moment.
"Why?" he echoed. The question itself felt odd. But her gaze was so steady, so serious, as though she truly needed the answer.
He forced himself to think clearly. 'Why do I feel empathy for her? Because I pity her? That's too shallow.'
'Empathy? Because I imagined myself in her place. But why did I even imagine that? I could have chosen not to, as I usually do, and then I wouldn't care at all.'
Then the answer came to him. 'Because I wanted to. Because I chose to make the effort. As long as I still have the will to empathize with someone, then I will care.'
The realization struck him sharply, but instead of pain, it brought a strange calm. Relief washed over him, quiet and undeniable.
'So… I haven't completely become a monster after all.'
He did not notice how long he had sunk into his thoughts. For over three minutes, he sat unmoving, while time itself seemed to pause around him.
Ashtoria never looked away. She searched his face for lies, for the slightest trace of pretense, but she found nothing.
At last, her lips moved.
"You are a good person."
Riven jolted as though pulled from a dream. His eyes widened. Those words—he couldn't even remember the last time he had heard them, if he had ever heard them at all. He had never even thought them about himself.
"All my life," Ashtoria continued softly,
"no one has ever said that to me. No one has ever cared."
Not her most loyal subordinates.
Not the servants who had served her for years.
No one.
Not even as empty courtesy.
Not even once.
Her words pressed into him, leaving him unable to respond. His throat tightened, his voice caught and useless.
Then, without warning, Ashtoria leaned forward. Her body tilted closer, her face drawing near. So close that he could smell the faint trace of roses clinging to her, mingling with the damp scent of earth. Her crimson eyes—clear, sharp, beautiful, and dangerous—locked onto his.
Riven froze. Her face was far too close.
Instinctively, he leapt to his feet.
"I… need to continue my training," he blurted, awkward and tense.
Ashtoria stopped, unmoving. She only stared at him with that flat, unreadable expression—whether she was judging, waiting, or simply letting him go, he could not tell.
Riven averted his gaze, forcing himself to steady his breath. He added, voice strained yet insistent,
"Don't forget your promise. After I'm done, you'll teach me how to absorb mana."
Ashtoria studied him for a moment, then gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod.
Riven threw himself back into training. He began the routine: 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats, and a 10-kilometer run. What had started as Melly's childish joke had become his true resolve.
Melly, of course, joined him with fiery determination. Yet before long, she collapsed on the grass like a corpse, gasping for air. Sweat streamed down her forehead, her small arms trembling after only fifty push-ups. Still, she had tried.
Riven, meanwhile, carried on in silence. His movements were steady, his rhythm controlled. His body might have been thin, but it was not fragile. His breathing grew heavy, but remained even. Every stride in his run landed with conviction, proof of a body long trained.
Ashtoria watched quietly. This regimen alone would have broken most people. Yet he endured, even after a morning of sword practice.
Time slipped past. The sky shifted, orange bleeding into purple as shadows stretched long across the ground. A cool breeze drifted in with the dusk.
At last, Riven finished his final run. His legs nearly gave out beneath him, his body drenched in sweat, his face pale with exhaustion. But there was still resolve in his step.
He staggered toward Ashtoria and collapsed onto the grass beside her.
For a moment, he only lay there, staring up at the fading sky. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, but there was a faint trace of satisfaction in his expression.
At last, in a hoarse, broken voice, he managed to speak.
"...I've done it. All of it. Now… will you teach me… how to absorb mana?"