It was the height of war on a winter night, and the clocks were striking seventeen. Ministers shuffled in the cabinet, projector still flickering. Some organised notes from the meeting, while others discussed tactics.
"You missed a file."
Kai's voice echoed through the wooden walls, underscored by the pages flicking in his hands.
Morgan didn't reply, but turned her head slightly. Her vermilion eyes caught the faint light of the projector in the war room. The screen behind him hummed softly.
As her gaze fell on the paper, however, she just rolled her eyes, looking away. "It wasn't important."
Kai raised a brow, his eyes flickering between the file and the princess, before he decided to read the document. His gaze scanned over the freshly printed ink, with many details.
The optimal diet for each age group, at each rank, the optimal age for awakening, and other optimisations. As if humans were lab rats.
Kai frowned, eyes drifting over the many experiments. Nothing caught his eye, except for a few details relating to Mordret and Morgan. Specifically...
"Wait—today's your birthday?" Kai barely kept his voice low. Still, he earned a few glances.
Morgan didn't look up. Her gloved hand flipped through the files as her mind sprinted ahead. "Yeah... I think so. Doesn't matter. We don't do those here."
Kai gaped at her, eyes shifting between the file and her. He stuttered slightly, which made Morgan turn her head. Her lips curled, shoulders twitching slightly.
Finally, Kai managed to stutter out, his voice a blend of whispers and shouts, "You don't celebrate birthdays!?"
At those words, Morgan let a laugh slipping through. This was a successful Saint of a man, both a capable leader and a mature combatant.
'...and he's outraged over a missed birthday?'
Kai went quiet, ears going slightly red as the princess's laughter infected the other cabinet members. Still, he waited until her laughter died.
"In Valour, no one is thankful you are born." She smiled, twirling her hair around a finger. The sharp contrast with her words made Kai uneasy.
"Me especially." Still, Morgan continued. "A lot of people wish I hadn't been born." A small laugh escaped her lips. "But yes, here, your worth is only decided by how you die."
She looked at him—and for a moment, something hurt. Guilt? Or was it just how his Flaw caught every word? He couldn't doubt her, after all. The cultural shock aside... the ability to tell truths from lies was a cruel one.
Still, she went on. "Whether by disease, old age, or on the battlefield swinging your sword, your death defines your worth."
Kai didn't speak, his eyes trained on the princess. She tilted her head with a coy smile, meeting his gaze. But her teasing seemed to fail, as he simply sighed and moved away.
"That is... horrible." He muttered, collecting the remaining files in a neat stack. "So, you don't get any gifts... and no one wishes you either?"
Morgan giggled, lightly tapping Kai's back as she smirked. "Saint Nightingale, I didn't take you to be... so childish."
The remaining ministers in the room also let out a brief chuckle, though Kai stayed silent. Noticing his expression, Morgan just smiled, patting the space where she'd just tapped him. "It's alright. Just a culture shock, I believe..."
Pausing, she added, "If you want, perhaps I could bring you a specialised Memory for your birthday?"
Kai shook his head, expression unchanging. A smile lingered on his lips as he bowed lightly to Morgan, but his eyes didn't crinkle. It felt closer to the smiles he had reserved for his galas and concerts as an idol.
Still, she did not have the luxury to care. The most important part of war was logistics, and she was in charge of it. So, she drowned herself back into work.
The clock ticked on. A second, then another. Minutes blurred into hours. By the time the hands crossed eleven, the room had gone still.
The door buzzed.
Morgan jolted, her gaze flicking on the clock. A quiet sigh slipped out. 'Ah, it's been a few hours already... there's so much left to do still.'
She glanced at the door, thinking if she should pretend not to be here. Still, she just sighed and opened it. And as the door opened, a tall man with locks of auburn hair revealed himself.
Morgan stared at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to say something. A few seconds passed, before he sighed.
"Happy birthday," Kai murmured, scratching his neck as he averted her gaze.
Morgan stared at him even harder, causing him to shrink slightly. The silence grew intense, suffocating.
Then, she laughed.
To her, it was a short, ugly sound. The kind that started in the throat and didn't quite reach anywhere else. The worst laugh, a genuine one, where she didn't have time to stage and perfect.
But she couldn't help the laughter.
"Seriously?" she asked. "You believe in that childish ritual?"
Kai didn't answer. Not immediately, at least. He looked at her, in that strange way of his. As if trying to understand her, a puzzle to be solved. Or perhaps, deciding if she was a puzzle worth finishing at all.
"I... nevermind," Kai sighed, voice collapsing into a mumble. Then, his voice rose again, eyes focusing, "You have been working for six hours. I would advise you to take a rest... or it could hinder productivity."
Morgan smiled. She was well aware he deliberately threw in the last line for her, because otherwise, she would never listen. And... he did raise a fair point.
'There is no telling when Mordret would make a move, so there was no point in wasting my stamina now.'
She sighed, nodding to him. "Alright... we will continue tomorrow, around nine in the morning. If possible, please bring Saint Athena and The Soul Reaper with you."
Kai nodded, lips curling ever so slightly as his eyes crinkled. A genuine smile this time. A smile Morgan returned, before gently closing the door and returning to her room.
It was then that she came across it.
On her desk. No knock. No message. Just... there.
A box wrapped in black paper, with vermilion tape across it—a colour scheme that even she found tasteful. Atop the box, two separate spaces lay, split by a golden-vermilion divider.
In one lay a sealed case.
In the other a Memory.
Her fingers hovered over it, before freezing. Trying to catch them, but couldn't. Instead, she started to shake. She didn't want to admit it, but she knew why.
It was because she didn't want to touch it. Not out of fear. But out of something worse.
Hope.
The worst poison.
'But it is dangerous to leave it here... I need to check, even if just to make sure Mordret isn't hiding here.' She exhaled a sharp sigh, reciting her thought process to herself a few times over.
Then, she opened it.
It was... beautiful. Simple, but crafted with care. A bow, similar to the one he used, if not the same. A bow, similar to the one she herself had first learnt to use, before the ministers decided to give it away in the Dreamscape.
A bow, simply named, Anniversary of Miracles.
Her fingers ran along, slowly, as if afraid she'd damage it. But the fear took control, and the next second, her heart jumped, freezing as the Memory turned into a rain of gold.
'Did I break it?'
But no. Not this time. The golden sparks swam into her soul, where the bow now rested, and the familiar voice of the Spell whispered in her ear.
She didn't quite hear it, breath hitching as she tried to calm her heart. It was alright. She didn't break it. Biting her tongue, she moved on as her gaze shifted.
The second item.
A hard drive. Not a military one. Just a recorder.
Before realising it, she pressed play.
Static, to something more... vibrant. Radio-friendly, perhaps. Then his voice. Shakier than usual. Like he hadn't meant to speak at all.
"I know you find this stupid," he rubbed his neck. "But I wanted to give you something you wouldn't delete."
Then, background vocals. Something that reminded her of Kai's origins as a singer, among the most renowned in the world.
At first, it was just a low, slow melody. Bass. Guitar. Percussion and piano. A soft undertone, humming, like a heartbeat in the radio. Like a hymn for the weekends.
"Oh angel sent, from up, above."
And then, he sang.
"You know you make, my world, light up."
It wasn't perfect. That made it worse.
"When I was down, when I, was hurt."
It was... real.
Not staged, not practised.
Just genuine and real. A song that he wrote for her.
"You came, to lift, me up."
She didn't move. Didn't dare breathe. Just let it play, until the last note fell into silence. Until the room fell into silence, but the music still danced in her ear like a ghost.
She couldn't breathe too well. Or think, even. And so, she didn't hear him enter. She only felt the shift in the air—subtle, a warmth behind her spine.
Morgan turned around, only to face the familiar culprit. But no words escaped her lips. She just stared at him, frozen, and he gazed back. She could feel her eyes going bloodshot, but couldn't look away. And then... he leaned in.
Her thoughts froze.
Arms. Around her. He had pulled her into a hug... and she didn't find it in herself to resist. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. So his grasp tightened.
Tight. Warm. Euphoric.
She couldn't move. Breathe. Think, even. Until, a single cry managed to break free, trembling as her voice cracked.
"Stop," she whispered. "You'll bleed... so leave me alone... please..."
And yet, she didn't move. Made no effort to resist. He didn't let go, either, arms squeezing tightly around as she returned the embrace without realising it.
His grip only tightened. Not crushing, no. Not desperate—she knew what that felt like. Just there. She could feel him bleed, but that only tightened his grasp.
It was wrong. So wrong. And yet...
Was it a few tens of seconds? A minute? Maybe an hour? Or was it just a few moments? She couldn't tell. Time had lost its name.
She couldn't breathe. Not from pain. From... relief. Comfort. From the sudden, overwhelming presence of something she hadn't known she needed so much.
Human contact.
After a while, he stepped away.
The warmth went with him.
She didn't follow him. Couldn't. She was Morgan of Valour, after all. So she just stood there, frozen watching as Kai stepped back, his eyes meeting hers.
"I... left some cake for you on the desk." He whispered with a wince, and she blinked. The cogs in her head slowly started to turn once more. "I didn't know your favourite flavour, so... I hope you enjoy it."
And so, he left. Bleeding. With her just standing there.
Empty. Cold. Frozen.
Several minutes later, she still hadn't moved much, and the clock ticked on.
Eventually, she stumbled back into her room, the door closing behind her. The silence was deafening as she slid to the ground. Her legs gave way without ceremony; no grace or resistance.
Shivering, she pressed her back to the wall, wrapping her arms around herself. The nails slit into her skin. Not enough, but the pain provided some comfort.
"Stupid," she whispered.
Then louder, cracked, "Stupid, stupid, STUPID—"
The tears came fast. Ugly. Gasping.
No one had ever touched her without despising her.
Those tempted by greed. Those tempted by lust. Or even those tempted by wrath. Whether they wanted her wealth or her body, whether they wanted revenge or simply held her from pride...
No one had ever stayed.
She had always been a trophy. A weapon to slit foes and serve her father. That was it. Even her father was closer to an instructor, and even he never touched her unless it was for a punishment.
That's all she was.
She wasn't... something to hold. Something to hold. Some... one to hold. To hug.
Her fingers dug deeper.
'God,' she thought, a shaky, breathless laugh leaving her lips. 'I'm so touch deprived I'm hallucinating.'
But she wasn't. She could still feel it. The shape of his arms around her. The warmth of his touch. The tightness with which he held her, uncaring about the wounds on his skin. As if he would protect her, or never let her go.
It burnt. As if it was branding her flesh with hot iron. It burnt so much, and it refused to leave... it burnt so right, and she wanted more.
She wanted to be held. Wanted to be cared for. Wanted to be... wanted.
She missed his touch already.
As the moon started to hide beneath the clouds, Morgan finally managed to shake off her paralysis, though her breathing was still irregular.
She crawled into bed. Still shaking. Eyes swollen, shoulders trembling. She felt cold, desperately craving warmth. She felt hollow, shapeless, as if needing someone to hold onto.
But for the first time in years, she didn't dream of war.
She dreamt of memories. Back when her mother was still alive. Back when she hadn't awakened her Aspect. Back when she and Seishan were still close.
She dreamt of warmth, of hands, and of touch. Of comfort and joy, of an intimacy that went beyond lust.
She dreamt of him.