Jin pushed the door open with a soft creak and paused at the threshold, eyes wide. The gentle candlelight illuminated the dark wooden furniture, but he seemed to view everything with a strange detachment.
Lyssandrel, seated in an armchair with a book, looked up.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice soft, concerned.
Jin turned his head, confused, and answered with an almost childlike hesitation:
"It's weird… everything… everyone."
She frowned, not understanding.
"In what way?" she pressed.
He pursed his lips and stared at the ceiling, as if searching for words.
"It's like… I'm normal."
Lyssandrel blinked slowly, looking away. For a moment, her usual serenity faltered, as if his words had cut into her chest. But she quickly regained her composure, meeting Jin's gaze with a melancholic smile and asking softly:
"How old are you now?"
Jin thought for a moment.
"Eighteen… maybe twenty."
The queen gave an almost maternal smile.
"Then you're old enough to drink a little."
---
She led him to a discreet tavern, a place of dark wood and the scent of spices, where few eyes recognized them.
They sat in a corner, and Lyssandrel poured two glasses of amber liquor.
Jin took his first sip cautiously, his tongue tracing the bitter drink, the warmth slowly burning his throat.
She downed hers, already slightly tipsy, and began to speak, her voice loose and confessional.
"I'm… a half-divinity. Even I don't fully know where I come from."
Jin looked up at her, his expression attentive.
She laughed, tinged with sadness.
"I was found as a baby. A little abandoned thing at the gates of Althrien Manor, home of Baron Althran, a man loyal to the crown. There was a note—unsigned—that said only, 'Care for her as you would a fallen star.'"
Lyssandrel set her glass on the table, her gaze lost in memories.
"From a young age, I healed too quickly. Once, a fall that would've broken any child's bones, I got up before anyone noticed. But magic… oh, magic drained me in a strange way. A simple spell could leave me nearly lifeless, as if I were burning energy that wasn't mine."
Jin watched his glass, the liquid trembling slightly in his hand.
Lyssandrel smiled with a hoarse laugh, tears glinting in her eyes.
"When I was twelve, I tried to heal an injured bird with magic. The baron went pale as a wall when he saw me cast something he never explained. He only said, 'You need to grow strong. The world will need you.'"
She paused, her gaze fixed on Jin.
"I think, deep down, I never understood if this was a gift… or a curse."
Jin remained silent, absorbing every word. The air between them grew intimate, needing nothing more.
---
Jin's glass was empty, and he ordered a stronger, unusual drink with a strange flavor. Bouros, in his mind, frowned.
"What's that taste?" he muttered.
Bouros sampled it through Jin's senses and exclaimed, surprised:
"Incredible… More… order more of that."
Jin, with a half-smile, gently brushed Lyssandrel's hair from her face.
"Should a queen be drinking this much?" he teased.
She just smiled, her eyes closing slowly.
---
As Jin prepared to leave, a voice echoed in his mind, the first in a long time.
"Lorn."
He frowned, confused.
"Am I imagining things? Or has your voice changed, Bou suppression.
"Am I imagining things? Or has your voice changed, Bouros?"
Bouros replied sharply:
"No… But your new friends are starting to annoy me."
Lorn's laugh was low, sarcastic.
"Just kidding… It's boring back there."
And silence settled again.
---
The tavern was closing.
The owner, a burly man with a sly grin, approached, adjusting his apron.
"Time to go, queen… and you, lad, better take her home."
Jin tried to rouse Lyssandrel, who was completely passed out on his shoulder.
The man laughed, eyeing Jin and his missing arm.
"Might be tough for you… I can help, of course. Carry this beauty to her room…"
Jin's eyes narrowed, cold and icy.
The owner paled.
"Right… heh… just a joke."
Without another word, the man hurried off, leaving a heavy silence.
The night stretched cold and quiet as Jin left the tavern with Lyssandrel leaning on his shoulder. She mumbled incoherent words, her steps dragging, guided by the slow, heavy breathing of deep sleep.
Mitivél's city seemed to dream alongside them. The stone streets, lit by magical lanterns, cast long shadows. Jin walked in silence, feeling the weight of the woman—not just physical, but symbolic.
At the palace room, he pushed the door open with his shoulder and entered carefully. He laid Lyssandrel on the bed with a gentleness uncommon for someone who'd slain monsters and demons. He covered her with a sheet up to her shoulders. Her hair was a mess, a strand falling over her serene face.
Jin sat on the bed's edge, his gaze distant.
> "My mother used to do this a lot with me…"
The thought came suddenly, like a breeze. For a moment, his mother's face formed in his mind—warm hands tucking in a blanket, the scent of herbs and ink in the air, a muffled lullaby at day's end.
He stayed there a few more minutes. And, for the first time since escaping the rift, he closed his eyes not from exhaustion… but from longing.
---
The next morning, the sun painted the sky golden as three rapid knocks echoed at the door.
"Lyssaaaa! We're coming in!" came a lively voice from the other side.
The door swung open without waiting for a reply.
"Sister, you're supposed to knock and wait…" said the second, already stepping inside.
"Oh, come on, if she's sleeping, the noise'll wake her anyway!" added the third.
The three froze abruptly.
Jin stood beside a table, shirtless, changing a bandage with a cloth between his teeth. His muscular torso seemed carved by force, marked by deep, some still pink scars. His missing right arm made the scene more striking, and the silence that followed was absolute.
"Wow…" said the first, with a low whistle.
"Uh… sorry, we… um… can we look?" asked the second, trying to avert her gaze but failing miserably.
"By the gods… sister, you're drooling!" said the third, giving a theatrical elbow.
Lyssandrel was still asleep, her hair splayed across the bed. The scene was chaotic: a passed-out queen, a shirtless warrior, three princesses barging in without ceremony.
Jin just sighed, struggling to tie the bandage, paying them no mind.
---
The shortest of the three approached, taking the cloth from his hand.
"Hard with one arm, huh? Let me do it." Her voice was sweet, but her eyes held a curious glint.
Jin watched her for a moment, then nodded silently.
As she tied the bandage around his shoulder, the second princess sat on the bed beside him, studying the stump of his arm with interest.
"How'd you lose it?" she asked bluntly.
Jin didn't answer immediately. He sat at the table with them.
The third pulled up chairs and sat with astonishing ease.
"Oh, right! We're princesses!" she announced with a grin. "I'm Irielle, the eldest—by a minute, okay? This is brave Seris, and that's Talyne, who pretends to be calm but fools no one."
"I'm Jin," he said simply.
"Short name… suits you," Seris commented.
Jin glanced at the bandage, then his eyes drifted for a moment, as if reliving the scene.
"I was fighting a warrior with a massive sword. One of those blades you wield with two hands and still feels too heavy. It was a duel—a real one."
The three fell silent, listening like children to a story.
"I lost my arm on the second strike. The blade cut deep. But I didn't stop." He looked at the scar. "I used his shadow against him. Won the fight with a blade lodged in my body and blood in my eyes."
Talyne blinked, startled.
"That's… real?"
Jin nodded. Irielle just smiled.
"I like you. You look like you've died three times already."
Seris laughed.
"And came back just to punch whoever tried to bury you."
"Something like that," Jin replied.
The light mood lingered in the room, with soft laughter and curious glances. Jin remained seated, still shirtless, when soft footsteps echoed in the corridor. A shadow appeared at the door—then a tall, elegant figure.
It was the Queen of Mitivél.
Her name was Velanora, a middle-aged woman with gray hair tied in a braid down to her waist. Her golden eyes carried ancient wisdom and a subtle sense of humor. She wore a royal dress with silver details but moved with the ease of someone who'd long abandoned protocol.
Pausing at the half-open door, she blinked slowly. She saw Jin, shirtless, surrounded by her three daughters seated around him like he was a winter hearth.
Velanora studied the scene for a few seconds, then turned and began to walk away slowly.
"No worries…" she said in a calm, distant tone, "I was your age once."
"IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!" the three shouted in unison, jumping up as if their chairs had caught fire.
Irielle tripped over her own skirt, Seris hid her face behind her hair, and Talyne went pale as paper.
"Mother! We were just listening to him tell… you know… war stories!" Irielle tried to justify.
"He's got one arm!" Talyne added, as if that helped.
Lyssandrel, still groggy, sat up in bed, her hair a stormy crown.
"Why are you shouting…? You think you're at the fruit market?"
Velanora stopped and turned with a mocking smile.
"Even you, Lys?"
She crossed her arms.
"This boy's a monster in every sense…"
Jin closed his eyes and let out a tired sigh.
"Truly… you're a family."
Velanora laughed heartily, her eyes dancing with amusement.
"The king asked for you and Lyssandrel to come to the main hall. Seems he wants to talk," she said naturally, before leaving, the door open and the chaos behind.
The three princesses exchanged silent glances.
Jin grabbed his shirt.
A soft knock at the door interrupted the confusion.
All turned to see a tall, thin figure in long dark robes.
It was the royal advisor, pale-faced, expression restrained.
He inclined his head slightly in reverence.
"Your Majesty, Princesses… Sir Jin." His eyes, subtly stern, landed on each with precision.
Then his voice came, firm, no-nonsense:
"The king wishes to see you immediately. The situation… doesn't look good."
The silence that followed was different from before—denser, like a veil falling over everyone in the room.
Jin looked at Lyssandrel, who was already rising, her expression as serious as it hadn't been in a long time.
---
The throne room was vast, silent, with white marble columns and tapestries embroidered with golden threads.
Jin stood beside Lyssandrel, while Queen Velanora spoke with her in a low voice, a glass of wine in hand.
On the other side, King Caelan sat with a firm posture, the three princesses—Irielle, Seris, and Talyne—lined up beside him, like smaller shadows of his austere figure.
Caelan broke the silence with a heavy voice, dragging the mood into something denser:
"One of our scouts arrived last night… with a hastily written letter." His eyes scanned Lyssandrel's face. "It's from Aserion."
Lyssandrel immediately stopped talking with the queen. Her posture stiffened. Jin didn't move a muscle, but his eyes narrowed.
"Eriane was wounded. Severely." Caelan continued. "Not in mortal danger, but she's out of combat for an indefinite time."
Lyssandrel stepped forward, her tone sharper than usual:
"How did this happen? What's going on in Bravante, Caelan?"
The king didn't reprimand her. He just took a deep breath.
"Neith arrived… and managed to balance the forces for now. But five superior demons appeared. Five." He paused. "Aserion, Kaeron, and Neith managed to hold them off, but not without cost. Eriane was struck during one of the assaults. From the reports, the enemy seems… endless. They're slain in droves, and more appear, as if the very air is spewing monsters."
Lyssandrel clenched her fists. For the first time, she seemed restless.
Jin didn't speak. He kept his gaze fixed on the marble floor, listening with a closed expression.
"I want you to return, Lys," Caelan said, calmer. "Take Jin with you… and Velanora."
Before Lyssandrel could respond, the three princesses stepped forward almost in unison.
"We want to go too," said Seris, the most serious of the three.
"We need this, Father," Irielle added. "We're heirs. If we don't see war now, how will we rule later?"
Caelan sighed, thought briefly… then approached Jin.
With a slow gesture, he placed a firm hand on the young man's shoulder.
"I'll entrust them to you, boy," he said with the solemnity of sealing a fate. "Something in my mind… or perhaps my blood, tells me I can count on you to protect them."
Jin raised his eyes, still silent. The king's touch, however light, felt heavy. But he only nodded briefly.
Lyssandrel crossed her arms, smiling with restrained irony.
"You're getting old, Caelan. Betting your legacy on a boy."
"Maybe," the king said. "But even so… it's a good feeling."
---
Night fell over Mitivél, painting the sky a deep blue.
The horses were ready, saddled. Magical lanterns floated subtly along the courtyard's edges, casting soft light that drew shadows on tired faces.
Jin walked alone to his horse.
He ran a hand over the animal's muzzle and, before mounting, looked up at the starry sky.
The wind stirred his hair. He slowly pulled the dark cloak's hood over his head.
"You like this, don't you?" Bouros's voice came, teasingly playful.
Jin raised an eyebrow, confused.
"Like what?"
Bouros laughed.
"This. The pose. The hood. The shadow by the fire's edge." He paused. "Somehow… it suits you."
Jin ignored the comment.
Across the courtyard, Lyssandrel finished giving orders to the palace guards.
The three princesses laughed among themselves, excited and nervous.
Queen Velanora adjusted her gloves with the quiet dignity of someone who'd seen eras pass.
The road awaited them.
And beyond it… something far worse.