The gravestone was small and unassuming. There were no flowers placed near the burial mound covered by a simple stone coffin. Marion stood silently, gazing at the gray marker. After a moment of hesitation, she placed a single white flower before the grave. As she straightened, her eyes caught the simple inscription carved into the stone.

Here lies Emil Borden of the Borden Barony.

The gravestone bore only that single sentence—no embellishments, no epitaphs, just a name and its associated lineage. Emil Borden’s grave stood at a considerable distance from those of the other knights, as though deliberately separated.

Marion found herself grateful for that distance. She recalled the moment she learned of his death.

“It’s hard to put into words.”

Hugo Bern, who had delivered Emil Borden’s will, wore a conflicted expression. Marion, on the other hand, looked utterly bewildered as she stared at the envelope in her hand. It bore her name, To Marion, written in Emil’s unmistakable handwriting. The paper felt sealed as though by some invisible lock, one that Marion wasn’t yet ready to open.

“Are you not going to read it?” Hugo asked.

Marion couldn’t answer. Her thoughts were a storm. Emil was gone, and there was no way to demand answers, no throat to grab and demand, Why?

Hugo studied her but continued with measured calmness.

“Emil Borden wasn’t what you’d call a patriot. He wasn’t one to bow his head in loyalty to anyone, either.”
“…You certainly have an uncanny ability to see through people, Commander,” Marion replied, her voice sharp with a bitterness she didn’t try to hide.

Hugo chuckled wryly, shaking his head. He had no intention of dredging up the pain of the Bordens or forcing Marion to confront the shadows of her past. Emil had entrusted Hugo with a single request: deliver the letter. Emil likely had no desire for someone else to defend or justify his actions.

“You’re right. It’s not my place to judge. I’ll leave it to you.”

Hugo made his exit after bowing politely to Michelle, who had been observing quietly. Michelle watched Marion closely. Pale to the point of translucence, Marion looked as though the smallest gust of wind could break her. What she needed most now, Michelle concluded, was time to think.

“I have business to attend to with the Border Marquis and Count Agon,” Michelle said softly.

Marion instinctively stood to follow, but Michelle raised a hand to stop her.

“Sit. What I must discuss with them is private. Stay here and wait.”
“But, Your Highness—”
“If you insist on defying my consideration, feel free to set that envelope aside and follow.”

Marion lowered her head, unable to protest further. Michelle offered a faint smile before leaving the room, her escort trailing behind her.

As the door clicked shut, Marion slumped back into her chair. The sealed envelope sat on the table, its presence as oppressive as a staring eye. She hesitated, her gaze drawn repeatedly to the words To Marion on the envelope’s surface. Slowly, her finger slid under the wax seal.

Emil Borden was dead, and she was here.

That, Marion realized, was why she couldn’t bring herself to open it.

The dried wax began to crack under her touch. Marion glanced out the window. The sky was clear, unbroken by clouds. For some reason, it felt like time outside wasn’t moving.

Finally, she tore open the envelope.

Emil Borden’s will contained no demands, no requests for forgiveness, nor refusals of it. It simply chronicled his life, explaining the decisions he had made and why. In one passage, reflecting on the suffering Marion had endured for over a decade, Emil had written:

“Maxime will need to take good care of you. I didn’t have the strength or ability to do so. My greatest regret is leaving you with nothing but a scarred memory of me.”

The words left a bitter taste in Marion’s mouth. If only she could accept it as a matter of bad luck and move on.

She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped away a smudge on the gravestone.

“It’s a lonely resting place.”

The Bordens had been contacted the day before, but none of Marion’s siblings had come to visit. Their absence didn’t surprise her. After all, they weren’t innocent of the pain she had endured. Yet Marion held no resentment toward them—there was little point in hatred for people she wouldn’t see often, if ever, again.

Her mother, however, had come alone. When she arrived, she had hugged Marion and wept. Marion suspected she would see her mother more frequently now.

Standing before the grave, Marion whispered a quiet farewell to Emil.

“I’ll visit sometimes.”

Footsteps broke the stillness. Familiar footsteps. Marion turned her head to see Theodora standing five paces away.

“…Hello,” Theodora said, bowing slightly. She took a few steps closer, glancing at the name on the gravestone before meeting Marion’s gaze. Neither woman spoke at first, each unsure of how to begin. Finally, Marion broke the silence.

“You’ve done well. Congratulations on receiving your medal.”

Her eyes drifted to the gold medal pinned to Theodora’s uniform. The engraved lily design marked it as the kingdom’s highest honor. Yet Theodora shook her head, her expression clouded.

“It’s a shameful medal. Even though my family committed treason and was erased, Her Highness refused to hold me accountable.”

Marion offered a faint smile.
“No one will hold you accountable.”
“…Not even after what my family did to your life?”
“Because of that, I met Maxime.”

Marion shrugged as if it were nothing.

Theodora’s gaze fell to Marion’s left hand, where a blue-tinged ring glinted on her finger. Marion noticed her staring but made no effort to hide it.

“We still have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

Marion’s eyes were steady as they held Theodora’s. Theodora nodded. There would be no more avoidance, no more running from the truth.

Marion nodded back, signaling her understanding. Theodora exhaled softly, turned, and began walking away from the cemetery.

“I’ll let it go this time.”

She thought of rushing to see him immediately after hearing the news that he was awake, but she knew that if she saw his face now, she wouldn’t be able to leave his side.

“I guess I’ll have to wait a little longer.”

Marion puffed her cheeks slightly, thinking to herself, I’ll make up for it later by keeping him all to myself.

Theodora paused in front of the hospital room. She hesitated briefly before opening the door.

The sharp scent of herbs filled the air, mingling with the cold draft escaping through an open window. The curtain surrounding the bed swayed gently, revealing a shadow that flickered in and out of view.

Theodora stepped forward and drew back the curtain.

There he was.

Pale skin, parched lips, and a gaunt face sharpened by the recovery process. Yet his golden eyes, though faint, sparkled as they met hers.

Maxime smiled faintly.
“Come in.”

Theodora realized she was still standing at the door, leaning awkwardly against the frame. Blushing slightly, she nodded and stepped closer, each step feeling heavier than it should.

When she was finally close enough to see him clearly, she thought, Yes, this is the Maxime I remember.

In the aftermath of the final battle with Léon Bening, Maxime’s pained expressions—whether twisted with fury or shadowed with the grief of leaving someone behind—lingered in Theodora’s memory. Yet, to her, he was always the serene, sunlit man with a transcendent smile.

“Why is the window open in this cold? You’ll get worse,” she scolded, her tone laced with both concern and irritation.

“Just lying in the hospital room felt stifling,” Maxime replied, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Leaving the window open helped a bit.”

With a huff, Theodora walked over to the window and shut it firmly. The fluttering curtains settled at once, no longer whipping around. Maxime stared wistfully at the now-closed frame while Theodora dragged a chair to sit beside him. Just looking at his face stirred a well of emotions within her—she wanted to cry in his arms or lash out at him. Instead, she bit her lip quietly, hiding her turmoil.

“Lie down. You’ve only just regained consciousness, and already you’re complaining about feeling trapped,” she muttered.

“Can’t I at least sit up?” Maxime’s voice held a playful tone.

“No,” she replied firmly, pressing his shoulder gently back to the bed. Maxime gave in without resistance, his shirt collar shifting slightly to reveal the bandages underneath. The image of the blade that had pierced his chest flashed vividly in Theodora’s mind.

“Does it hurt?” she asked softly, her fingers grazing his chest lightly.

Maxime flinched at the touch. “A bit, but it’s not unbearable. The doctor says I’m healing remarkably fast—probably thanks to being able to circulate mana properly again.”

“…So you’re okay now?”

“More than okay, though getting used to everything working so well again feels strange.”

Placing his hand on the left side of his chest, Maxime closed his eyes. Theodora sensed the faint ebb and flow of energy within the room. It was weak, but she could feel mana gradually rising from his heart. Her eyes widened in astonishment as Maxime smiled boyishly.

“…That’s about it for now. If I tried, I think I could draw out an aura again. It’ll take some time to return to the level I was at during my cadet days, but apart from that, I’m fine.”

He rotated his wrist and stretched his shoulders for emphasis, as if to prove his point. Despite the grievous injury he’d suffered, Maxime’s casual gestures conveyed his sense of recovery all too well.

“I can move around just fine without help. Why am I still stuck here?” he said with a hint of teasing.

“Are you trying to annoy me on purpose?” Theodora shot back, her words sharp. Maxime winced at her glare.

“…Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” she sighed.

Theodora found herself thinking back to the past. He had always been like this—his small, unintentional missteps would be followed by such puppy-like remorse that it became impossible to stay angry with him. The atmosphere grew momentarily awkward, a silence stretching between them as they both avoided each other’s gaze.

“What’s been happening while I was out?” Maxime asked, breaking the quiet.

“…Quite a bit, actually. Who do you want to hear about first?”

“You,” he answered without hesitation.

Theodora smiled at his quick response. “The Bening County has been completely dissolved. Their lands and power are gone, and their wealth has been reclaimed by the treasury. Most of their retainers are likely to leave the kingdom.”

“And you?” Maxime’s voice carried a note of worry.

“Nothing happened to me. They didn’t even discuss punishing me during the hearings. I was awarded a medal and even had my barony officially reinstated.”

She held up the golden medal pinned to her chest. Maxime’s eyes widened in admiration as he examined the intricately designed badge.

“That’s impressive.”

“You’ll be covered in medals like this once you’re discharged. You shouldn’t be admiring mine,” she teased.

Maxime frowned. “I don’t like being the center of attention.”

“Is that so? How did someone who hates attention manage to win a martial arts tournament?” she retorted with a smirk.

They both laughed at the shared memory. Theodora began recounting the updates about those connected to them, weaving each story carefully.

“Christine has been leading the efforts to clean up the remnants of dark magic. All research materials have been destroyed, and now they’re hunting down the remaining practitioners scattered across the kingdom.”

“Those old relics are still alive? I thought Léon Bening had consumed all of them—or that the purge of the Mage Tower had taken care of the rest.”

“Apparently, some of the captured dark mages confessed about others still alive in exchange for reduced sentences.”

Maxime shook his head in disbelief. “Ruthless.”

“They must have feared dying in prison,” Theodora added.

Maxime nodded, urging her to continue. Theodora moved on to Marion.

“Marion was promoted from handmaid to secretary in the First Princess’s office. The Borden Barony has officially produced a remarkable talent.”

“…Secretary?” Maxime blinked in surprise, his mouth falling open. Somewhere along the way, his fiancée had ascended to one of the kingdom’s most influential positions without his knowledge.

“If things keep going this way, she might even become the Chief Secretary. Her Highness seems quite fond of her,” Theodora teased.

Maxime chuckled, pride evident in his expression.

“You should see how many nobles are trying to curry favor with her, though she turns them all away.”

“That sounds like Marion,” Maxime said with a grin.

Theodora continued, sharing stories of others—Adeline’s quest to rediscover her past, Michelle’s preparations for the throne, and Louis’s departure from the capital to lighten the burden on his sister. She spoke of Hugo, who had reluctantly taken up the mantle of the First Guard Captain again, and of those who had fallen, their names immortalized in a national monument.

As Theodora detailed the lives they had shared and the changes that followed, they rebuilt a semblance of normalcy between them. Their world had been irrevocably altered, but in sharing these stories, they began weaving a new narrative.

When she finished, Maxime closed his eyes as though absorbing every word. He remained silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful before he opened his eyes again, locking them onto hers.

“What now?” he asked softly.

“What do you mean?” she replied.

“What happens with me,” he said, gesturing to himself, then slowly pointing at her. “And you.”

Theodora’s heart skipped a beat at the faint tremor in her chest, unfamiliar after so long. She took a shaky breath, her gaze unwavering from his. Her lips parted, but no words came out at first. Finally, she found her voice.

“What do you want?” she asked, her tone trembling slightly.

Maxime reached out, his hand brushing hers. His touch was steady, radiating warmth she hadn’t realized she craved so deeply.

“I want to start again,” he said.

Start again. The words weighed heavy between them, laden with the understanding that beginnings weren’t possible for those who had already traveled so far.

“No,” he corrected himself. “I want to keep going with you.”

He was right—their journey wasn’t starting anew. It had been tangled, fractured, and complicated, yet it had always been connected. His grip on her hand tightened, anchoring her. When Theodora opened her eyes, her blurred vision cleared just enough to see Maxime’s radiant smile.

“Now you’re finally looking at me, Theodora Bening.”

“…Idiot. That’s my line,” she replied, laughing through tears.

Maxime reached out, wiping her cheek gently as the tears flowed freely. His touch was soft, grounding her as they held each other’s gaze.

“Well?” he asked.

Theodora clasped his hand against her face and nodded.

“Yes. Me too.”

Their story, fractured but enduring, was ready to continue.

“We’ll keep going, together.”