The members of the Azure Knights who'd been left behind in Calum were none too pleased when the party returned. More than the night they'd spent in prison, they were galled by the disaster that had nearly unfolded in their absence.

"The Blancs?!" Dartune had bellowed in disbelief. "A man who'd become half-shadow?! These trials and tempests are the very reason I draw my blade for Varant! To think… I spent the night rotting in a cell while this creature of myth rampaged!"

Of course, rotting away meant three square meals and plenty of sleep. Their stay in Calum's dungeon had amounted to a short vacation.

Kylian, who had actually fought the shadow-born terror, stifled an irritated sigh and attempted graciousness.

"The battle would certainly have been easier with your presence, Sir Dartune," he said—truthfully.

"When I saw Miss Ciel abscond with you from your cell, I took it for yet another of the young master's foolish tricks," Dartune said, solemn and gruff. "And yet… what horrors lay in wait."

He closed his eyes. "To reach such a joyful end is truly a miracle."

With that, Kylian wholeheartedly agreed.

Ailn had a final errand to see to at the Gren estate. So, before returning to his suite in the ark-Chelon estate, he paid Horace a visit, with Camille in tow.

As they made their way through the gardens of the Gren estate, multiple maids with flowery perfumes and fluttering eyes tried to court Camille's favor. But she was far too shaken to notice their overtures.

"They'll raze Varant," Camille said faintly, her eyes distant as she climbed the terrace steps. "The dragoon knights will take our heads and mount them on pikes…"

"Will you quit it?" Ailn asked. "Would you rather I just let her execute you and Alera?"

"What even possessed you to attempt such a trick?" Camille asked, flabbergasted.

"Attempt? I pulled it off cleanly," Ailn said, shooting her a sidelong glance. "The princess's eyes were like a kid's begging for candy. She tipped her hand too easily and paid for it." He shrugged. "Setbacks breed character."

"And deceit breeds resentment," Camille hissed. "Which you'd already accumulated in spades with the princess!"

"How?" Ailn muttered. "It was the first time we even met."

Soon enough, they arrived at the conservatory, where Horace waited for them—a ring box set on the table in front of him. His back was rimrod straight, yet his fingers drummed nervously against its porcelain surface.

"Varant is in your debt, Horace," Ailn said, as he sat down. "We've managed to avoid the worst possible scenario, thanks to you."

He opened the ring box, where The Dragon's Promise—the genuine article—sat inside. What waited for Isolde the vaults of Calum Trading House was a decoy: a ring of ruby and adamantine which Ailn had procured from The Company of Deft Hands.

It was certainly dazzling enough to tide Isolde for a while. Especially since she wasn't going to try to melt it any time soon. Nor did she know that The Dragon's Promise had a secret.

"Could I get a glass of water, actually?" Ailn asked one of the maids.

Moments later, a silver tray touched down on the table beside him, a glass set gently atop it.

Ailn plunked the ring into the water with a quiet splash. Slowly, lines of strange script began to shimmer along its surface, glowing a brilliant red, like molten runes embossed into the metal, rising from nowhere.

But he couldn't read it. It was in the ancient language.

"Did you ever figure out what the script says, Horace?" Ailn asked.

"'Iskvene,'" Horace replied, his tone thoughtful yet still anxious. "It means 'It continues,' or 'It goes on.'"

"Any significance to that?" Ailn asked.

"I don't know," Horace said, honestly. "By the grammar of the ancient tongue, it's a word which spans past, present, and future—what has endured, endures still, and shall forever endure. Perhaps it refers to the imperial line. A statement of eternal authority."

"What is… was… and will always be. An emperor's promise to his descendants, maybe?" Ailn mulled. "Well, it doesn't help us much in the present. But it's good to know."

"What may soon no longer be," Camille said faintly, as if speaking to the wind, "is House eum-Creid. Or House Gren, when Princess Isolde learns of its complicity."

"...Isolde really got in your head, huh?" Ailn asked, arching a brow.

"How is it she's not in yours?!" Camille snapped, jaw clenching.

It was a good question. Though, if Ailn had to guess, it probably had something to do with his emerald eyes. They seemed to offer some protection against the psyche-warping powers of reincarnators with ruby eyes. And when he finally looked into Isolde's crimson irises, the resemblance was undeniable.

"I still don't get it, though…" Ailn said, eyes drawn to the ruby centerstone. He crossed his arms. "If the imperial family, with their red eyes, are held in such high regard—then why are 'flashing red eyes' held as taboo?"

Horace stiffened.

If Camille was anxious out of guilt toward Renea, then what had Horace acting so shiftily? The viscount was adjusting his cufflinks continually.

"Even texts in the ancient language speak of the devils from another world," Horace said. His voice was steady, but he wouldn't meet Ailn's gaze, and he was absently adjusting his cufflinks. "That means the taboo is as old as the empire itself."

He went on. "The imperial family established their crimson eyes as divine, and the flashing red eyes as the profane, demonic imitation. That, of course, has never stopped the murmurs. And many of the more… volatile imperial kin court the notion of demonic descent."

"Chief among them Princess Isolde," Camille muttered. "Whose enmity Varant has surely earned."

"That's correct," Horace sighed. "But given the alternatives, this may have been the least disastrous outcome."

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Seemingly back to comfortable grounds, Horace's posture eased, and he looked Ailn in the eye. "Next week, I'll be in Varant, reviewing the supply arrangements between House Gren and House eum-Creid. We can speak frankly then—about the princess, the imperial succession, and the measures necessary to protect Varant."

He paused a beat. "As such, it's best to bring in a political hand seasoned in imperial affairs."

"You don't mean…"

"I will be accompanied by Ashton ark-Chelon," Horace said.

Ailn groaned, holding his face in his hands.

Camille was rather quiet on the carriage ride back to the ark-Chelon estate.

Normally, Ailn would have just left her alone. But they'd gone through a lot together, slashing through cursed vines, nearly getting crushed by demon-willows together. That, and she was the second native of this world to see his emerald eyes.

He felt just a smidge of connection.

"Still brooding about the princess?" Ailn asked, half-expecting to be rebuffed.

"That certainly hasn't left my mind," Camille said, eyes cast out the window, watching the passing buildings. "Yet something else occupies its forefront."

She cleared her throat. "I was wondering if I could ask you a favor, Your Highness. One that might seem a bit odd."

"Go on."

Her eyes flickered with uncertainty, and she tapped her finger on the carriage's windowsill as she spoke. "I could not help but notice that you have a way of… bridging divides that exist between the estranged."

It took Ailn a moment to parse her meaning. "What, you mean like Bea and Sigurd? I wouldn't say I had much of a hand in that, really."

If anything, that was all Bea.

"Nonetheless," Camille breathed, hand drifting to her cheek. "In the end, they returned to one another. As though they were always meant to. And perhaps they never would have, if not for a few choice words on your part, at the right time."

She brushed a loose strand behind her air, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. "Lately as well, you've spoken quite cordially with my mother."

"We mostly complain about Sophie," Ailn cut in.

"Even still!" Camille sighed, aggravatedly. "It is not a social grace Nicolas or I have ever acquired. Our family is one which… does not seem to speak the same language as each other. My father is in Varant just once a year. I have hardly ever seen him and my mother exchange more than courtesies. It has been this way since I was a child. They are both, of course, adults who are free to live their lives as they wish—"

She trailed off, her rambling coming to a sighing and dejected stop.

"Out with it, Camille," Ailn prompted.

"I thought you might help them find common ground," Camille said flatly. "You could… work your strange magic, and have them speak with each other—perhaps even resolve their differences."

"I'm sure I could get them to sit for tea," Ailn said. He hesitated. "But what kind of outcome were you looking for here?"

The image of Sigurd, Ciel, and Bea together came to mind.

"Were you hoping I could get your parents back together?" Ailn asked.

Camille's head dipped slightly, her posture wilting with quiet embarrassment.

That night, Ailn stood alone on the balcony of his suite. Now that Sigurd had arranged a separate one for his family, the room was his again. Quiet and empty.

"Never found you, huh?" Ailn muttered. "Now, I really never will."

He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke drift away into the night, vanishing into nothing.

He'd been up on this balcony since he got back from the Gren estate. Despite being exhausted, he still hadn't gone to bed.

He was catching up. On smoking. Not on sleep.

Ailn heard footsteps behind him and the wheeling of a service cart.

"Did I forget the 'do not disturb' sign?" Ailn asked, tapping his pipe against the railing.

"Well, you know, I just wanted to check on my most productive worker," the teen god said with his usual nervous smile. "I just… noticed you've been smoking a lot since you got back."

"How often do you watch me, exactly?" Ailn asked, eyes narrowing.

"Just enough to make sure you're doing fine! Really," the teen god said. "I thought it might be good to touch base."

His smile faltered. "Just so you know. If you ever want your memories back—"

"I don't," Ailn said, cutting him off.

The teen god nodded, his smile taking on a hint of sadness. "Yeah. I sort of figured you wouldn't."

Ailn gave him a glance. "Anything else?"

"I actually brought stuff," the teen god said, forcing his voice to be chipper. "Great for a downtrodden soul—uh, no alcohol of course." He opened up the platter on the cart he wheeled in. "Hot chocolate… Some cookies…"

"What, am I four?" Ailn asked, picking up a cookie and eyeing it. Chocolate chip.

Guess some things just didn't change world to world.

Rather than sweets, Ailn opted for packing his pipe again. The teen god frowned at the sight.

"At least eat something," the teen god said.

"I prefer peanut butter," Ailn replied, striking a match and touching it to the bowl with a steady hand. "While you're here, I've got a few questions."

The teen god got the look of a cornered animal in his eye, but slumped into a chair nonetheless.

"I'll try to answer them," the teen god said.

"Emerald is union. Ruby is psyche. Gold is truth. And sapphire is time. Then what the hell is obsidian?" Ailn pressed. "And what's it got to do with the shadow beasts?"

"...Substance," the teen god replied. "That's the half I can answer."

"Substance?" Ailn's eyes narrowed. "As in, matter?"

"Roughly," the teen god said. "And those shards are crumbling apart themselves. That's all I can tell you. No, actually…"

The teen god's eyes scrunched in thought. For a moment, it seemed like he might hold his tongue. Then he spoke anyway. "I'll say this much. The fracturing obsidian shards… they're at the heart of why you're even here."

When his eyes opened again, they were emerald.

"When you gather the shards, Ailn, you're piecing this world together again," the teen god said softly. "There's a reason the aspect of Union echoes so strongly in you."

"I'm piecing the world back together," Ailn repeated, "but obsidian reincarnators are all going to crumble into dust when I take their shards?"

"...Yeah," the teen god smiled sadly. "That's the gist of it."

"That's how it is, then," Ailn muttered, sighing as he took a seat.

The two sat in silence for a while. The teen god kept eyeing Ailn and his pipe, his expression tightening little by little. Occasionally, he'd try to speak up. But after a while, he slumped forward in his chair, head low, like he'd given up on saying whatever was on his mind.

"Something up with you?" Ailn asked.

"You know, I—" the teen god started but trailed off. "You're carrying a lot of the aspect of Union, right? So, you kinda have to hold it together. More than most."

He scratched his cheek awkwardly. "If you start falling apart this whole world might follow."

"I'd say I'm giving it any honest shot," Ailn said, arching a brow. "You hate smoking that much?"

"Er, well, what if I put it this way? Take a look at your face when you get the chance—wait, no, don't give me that look!" the teen god raised his hands placatingly. "Look! All I'm saying is…!"

He let out a deep sigh. "I want you to be happy, Ailn. That's all."

"...I'll keep it in mind," Ailn said.

And their conversation slipped back into a lull. Smoke drifted through the air, as if Ailn hadn't heard a word.

"Right. Guess I'll just…" The teen god faltered, rubbing the back of his neck. "...be on my way."

He sighed, leaving Ailn on the balcony, the cart trailing behind as he crossed the suite with slow, defeated steps. He lingered at the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder as if he had something to say.

But he thought better of it. And he had one foot in the corridor when he heard Ailn call out.

"I never asked your name," Ailn said. "Do you even have one?"

The teen god slowed, easing the cart into the hallway as he took his time answering. Then he gave Ailn a genuine smile. .

"Call me, Ren," he said. The door shut behind him, muffling his farewell. "Have a good night, Ailn."

"Seeya."

Ailn sighed after he left, taking one last drag before tapping out the smoke.

"Can't have a vice anymore, huh?" he murmured. "It's tasted pretty terrible lately, anyway…"

He held the pipe a moment longer, considering just letting it slip from his fingers onto the stone below.

But he didn't.

He placed it on the balcony rail instead—leaving it behind as he headed back inside to get ready for bed.

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