Conflicts and confessions

The corridor, wide and long as it was, turned claustrophobic. The air, already warm, thickened into something ****, heavy with heat and tension. The sun beamed down rays that appeared to only increase in intensity as the brief staredown ensued.

Illan stood with disarming ease, bronze eyes glinting with quiet dominance. There was an aura about him that bled confidence, pressing down like heat itself. He thrived in this sweltering stillness. Here, in fire and friction, he was at home.

Lucas exhaled sharply, a tremor laced in the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His muscles were taut, feeling the pressure and the dawning realization about the situation. Cold sweat trickled down his spine, unpleasant as he looked at the brown-haired man who smiled almost devilishly at him. He understood the difference in their levels. Classless versus Classed. He was at impossible odds.

Yet, it all vanished in a blink when he heard Nimue's breath hitch behind him. Sharp. Fragile. Like porcelain under pressure.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to glimpse her. He could see the plea in her green eyes as she knew the same as he did. Her ears were low, her knuckles pale as she grasped her attire tightly. Something appeared to almost root her in place. Could it have been fear?

Anger flared in his chest at the thought, further fueled by the voice in the back of his mind. It beckoned, commanded almost, him to move.

And move he did.

But the harsh reality quickly caught up.

As he stepped forth, he noticed that Illan's hand was already raised. A small sigil danced between his fingers, his magic already activating. Lucas's foot met nothing, then slick carpet, making him crash down face-first. Grease, effective as it was simple, made him unable to keep his balance.

"Really, Lucas?" Illan's voice oozed condescension. "Maybe learn to stand first," his laugh echoed briefly against the walls.

The white-haired man didn't answer. Immediately, he pushed against the floor, lifting himself until he crouched. His gaze lifted to meet the other man's. They both could tell he wouldn't stand down with just that. Lucas was far too tenacious for that.

"Look at you," Illan said, his voice full of ridicule. "You've forgotten your place. Just read the room and go while I let you. I have a talk to get back to with a certain sweet girl," his gaze lifted behind Lucas's back, no doubt eyeing Nimue.

Lucas's anger surged higher. "Don't talk about her like that," he said through his teeth, standing up fully.

Illan snorted, immediately releasing a Stone Spear he'd prepared. "Or what? I'm just stating what I see."

However, contrary to what he expected, Lucas managed to just barely dodge. Within a short second, the distance was halved. And before the Breshnaw man managed to use another skill, Lucas was already next to him.

Lucas's fist drove into Illan’s abdomen just beneath the sternum. However, the brown-eyed man huffed not with pain but irritation. Lucas's Strength wasn't enough to pose a significant threat bare-handed.

In response, Illan drove a knee into Lucas’s ribs, making him recoil in pain. Even as a Mage, his physical power was beyond what Lucas was capable of. That was the harsh disparity between pure levels. Illan was at least level 25, from what Lucas knew.

Immediately after, the Breshnaw man followed up with a Flame Spear. The attack burst against his opponent's face like an exploding star.

"!" Lucas had no time to dodge. Suddenly hit by the spell right between his eyes, he recoiled several steps. A sharp gasp left his mouth, followed by a whiff of pain. His eyes watered, the flash of heat and light still dancing in his vision even after a few seconds.

Before he managed to recollect himself, a quick barrage of projectiles rained on him. The Stone Bullets flew precisely, hitting him in his right arm, each hit marking a new hurtful spot on his skin; it was an attack aimed at disarming his dominant side.

Lucas hissed. He blinked, but even as he looked ahead, Illan's form was blurred, and his eyes were not able to focus properly yet. Despite that, he could easily picture what was happening.

His thoughts were disrupted yet confirmed when he felt a blow of magic connect with his chest. The **** of the Stone Spear Illan sent was enough to push all air out of his lungs, the painful wave rippling across his entire torso. With a wheeze, he only barely managed to lose balance, dropping to one knee.

"M-Mister Breshnaw!" Nimue's voice entered their ears. "P-Please stop it!" she pleaded, immediately rushing to Lucas. Getting a hand on his shoulder, she gently squeezed before lowering herself.

"He started it. I'm just acting in self-defense," Illan shrugged, his hands slowly lowering. "How about it, Lucas? Learned your place?"

"Young master, please," Nimue whispered, leaning in closer to Lucas. "We need to leave."

Lucas released another sharp gasp. The painful reverberations in his abdomen slowly started letting him go, and his vision sharpened. He summoned his status, focusing on the HP value.

[HP: 284/488]

He clenched his teeth.

'Shit.' he cursed in his spirit. 'Even now, I'm powerless against him...'

His fists clenched, but he could feel it; his muscles had been struck in several vital parts, and he had had enough at the moment. In particular, his right shoulder felt almost numb, and his hand barely obeyed his commands.

The voice in the back of his mind hissed lowly. It was displeased with his state, but it didn't ridicule him. Rather, it seemed to agree with the disadvantage he was at.

"How about you go and get yourself checked?" Illan asked. "I'd like to finish the talk I was having."

His words immediately sparked a new surge of anger in Lucas. At the mere thought of what he'd seen, his fist raised as he suddenly lunged.

But the Breshnaw man was already prepared. Lucas was suddenly sent on his back, a new mark of pain reverberating in his chest.

[HP: 215/488]

Lucas almost spat as he tried pushing himself up. However, that proved to be a problem. The pain reverberating from his ribs told him clearly that at least one of them was not completely fine anymore. He winced, feeling Nimue help him to a sitting position. However, her firm grasp on his shoulder felt too heavy to fight against, the elf woman holding him in place lest he try to get up again.

"Please..." she whispered. "Let's just go."

He looked at her. Her eyes were watering, her entire form shaking as she scanned him. Her breathing was just as quivering, half-intakes followed by shallow exhales marking the significance of the situation.

'...I really can't do anything.'

Lucas gritted his teeth. This was unfair. It had already happened many times before, but this time felt especially insulting. This was because this time, he was actually classed. And yet, he could neither do anything with its abilities nor even expose the fact he had classed, or he'd be hung.

He felt Nimue pull at him slightly. The tender gesture informed him that she urged him to get away. That was the most logical solution, after all. Scurry away after defeat.

Shooting a glance at Illan, Lucas could see the sense of dominance and satisfaction lurking in his bronze eyes, his enjoyment painted on his face. His hand was leisurely lifted, but no more magic was formed between the thick fingers, as he clearly came to the same conclusion: this fight was over. The loser was obvious.

"Come on, I don't want to hurt you too much, Lucas," he said. "Just go. I should be returning to the meeting anyway. Thanks for letting me blow some steam off," a chuckle escaped his mouth as he turned away. "I'll see you around."

Lucas sighed heavily. He felt Nimue try to help him up. Lifting a hand with some effort, he supported himself on her. Together, they slowly ascended.

He looked over her briefly. Her pretty face was twisted into a mix of anger and concern, one of her hands clenched as she had the other under his armpit. Her attire didn't seem too disheveled, but she bore signs of tiredness. Her spiky ears were poised high yet twitched unsteadily. Her gaze was focused on him, searching for any irregularities she could amend at the moment.

But then, his heart skipped a beat.

'No...'

A trickle of red dripped down her clenched fist, shining like ruby against her pale skin.

'[Nimue...]'

He reached out, pushing through his body's protest and grabbing her hand. Applying gentle ****, he unfurled it, noticing the wound that still sept hot blood.

His mind raced briefly. He'd never seen Nimue hurt. Ill, yes, but never physically harmed. The sight and the realization made his stomach turn.

His chest tightened.

And something in his mind shifted.

The presence, usually reserved to the back of his mind, now felt as though it had substantially grown in size. Its feelings, full of sudden, almost inexplicable rage, pushed to the front, immediately enveloping Lucas's whole existence.

Nimue was hurt. And Illan had dared to lay hands on her. The conclusion was immediate. And it was undeniable.

Nimue snapped upright. Alarm flickered in her eyes at the shift in his expression. She hastily said, "Y-Young master, it's nothing. I hurt myself accidentally."

However, she immediately noticed that no words reached the man.

[A/N: This song, I believe, encapsulates the following scene well: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gA7w6u935VQ]

Lucas pushed off her, unsteady but upright. He exhaled slowly, his amethyst eyes locking on the back of the man walking away.

"Illan̵ Bre̵sh̶na̴w̵̿," he called out, his tone low, but his voice audible.

The man in question halted, turning on his heels. His brow raised, but his expression was still that of a smug confidence. In a way, it looked like ridicule.

"I'm̴ ̷not do̶n̸e̷̩̋ wit̶̟̑h y̶̶̵o̸̶̶u," the white-haired man continued. His voice sounded different now. It still held the same tone, but there appeared to be some strange depth to it.

Illan blinked in surprise, if only for a heartbeat. Then, with a sigh, he readjusted his attire and raised his hand.

“Lucas, don’t make me hurt you.”

Lucas exhaled heavily. His mind turned cloudy. The presence from the back of his mind swirled, encompassing him whole like an ocean swallowing up a small puddle. Yet, he could tell its feelings were the same as his own, full of rage. The emotions they instinctively shared, common between them yet unique to anyone else, felt like they always belonged right where they were.

His control slipped. Lucas could feel his muscles tense up even though he did not give them the command. His eyes focused on Illan's form, but the movement wasn't the same as he would use. It was much more refined and experienced, searching for vulnerabilities, tense muscles, the most minute twitches and sways. His mind worked in full swing, but between his regular thoughts, he could recognize multiple approaches playing out in front of him, like different versions of the next few seconds.

He wasn’t sure who was in control anymore.

...

And he didn’t care.

He stepped forward.

Illan scoffed. "If you insist."

Immediately, a small Fireball left the sigil between his fingers. The distance was about ten meters; it was easy to dodge. It was only meant as a warning.

However, he instead lifted his hand.

Illan's eyes widened as he saw the white-haired man catch the ball of fire. Not the slightest reaction crossed his face as he shattered the spell, letting it explode against his fingers. The heat wave hitting his skin didn't elicit so much as a blink, let alone a whine of pain he expected.

The white-haired man released a deeper breath. Looking at his hand briefly, he noticed the faint burn marks that marred the calluses of his skin. Clenching his fingers, he felt its sensations reverberating in his core. Pain, touch, warmth, cold - all of it struck at once, the vivid sensations almost like a cleansing bath to open his eyes. This also cemented something else.

[HP: 206/488]

The HP had dropped. However, the man did not panic at all.

He took a deeper breath. As the air filled his lungs, he called out to the power within him. He invoked its will. The sense of pressure on his back suddenly gained weight, almost like he was trying to lift a mountain. But he persevered.

[HP: 206/488]

His muscles tensed up momentarily. A pulse echoed in his chest. Numbers flickered before his eyes, recalibrating.

[HP̶̫͛:̵͍̉ ̷̲́2̶̴̷̶̷̡̬̬͉̈́͑͂͝0̷̧̂6̴͚͝/̶̘͋4̷͓̅8̶͇̆8]

In the middle of his mind, he felt it.

[HP: 488/488]

Something unseen clicked into place. The world pushed against him, and its will tried to quell his. The familiar to his ears sound of metal screeching was almost deafeningly loud, yet only hearable to him.

[??ty: 2 -> 3]

And suddenly, it all disappeared.

His muscles immediately relaxed, restrictions on them gone. His eyes looked ahead with newfound clarity. Lifting his hand, he could see no more burn marks.

His body felt reinvigorated. Unfamiliar yet familiar, newer than he was used to. However, that was a trifling concern. Adaptation wouldn't take long.

He scurried. The distance was rather short. He had a chance--

"Stone Spear," Illan released the magic. The projectile accelerated, hitting him cleanly in his guts.

A pained groan escaped his mouth. Of course, it would not be so easy. His stats were too low, too juvenile yet. Illan Breshnaw was now a 4th-circle Mage, too. It was not a level that one could attain purely by being lucky. Arrogant as he was yet, he was no doubt talented.

As Illan followed up with a Magic Missile, the white-haired man dashed to his side. Using Keen Senses, he concentrated on the movements of his opponent's fingers. They moved slightly, the index finger converging with the middle one while the other two clenched. The thumb straightened in parallel - Illan was about to use a Flame Spear.

He rushed, his movements more coordinated and adjusted by the second.

Pivoting off the wall, he avoided the spell and lashed out with a horizontal kick to Illan’s ribs.

[Strength: 7]

[S̷͇̿͝t̷̳͈͗ṟ̴̊̍ě̸̳͙͋n̴͙̏g̶̴̵̷̻͆̉̿͜͝ṱ̴̎̚h̸͎̝̃̒:̷̰̂̚͜ ̷͔͂̕ͅ7̶͚̉]

[Strength: 7 -> 24]

[??ity: 3 -> 4]

The Breshnaw heir was sent almost flying a few meters rearward. His opponent immediately rushed over, not intending to let him have a moment's rest.

Suddenly, he felt his feet sliding on the ground - even in that moment, Illan managed to complete another spell. However, there was a simple solution to counteract Grease on the floor. He jumped to the wall before he lost his balance completely. From there, he rebounded to his opponent, aiming a powerful hook strike.

...

Illan could not understand what was going on. Every next hit that connected felt stronger than the last. The reverberating pain in his body viciously reminded him that, unlike before, Lucas was now only striking at the most important parts, and did so with precision he'd never seen before. A sting of fear appeared at the base of his skull.

'Since when could that mongrel fight like that...? No rather, since when was he this strong...?'

Illan was not an idiot. He could tell when something was off. And every instinct in his body screamed at him to immediately respond.

His teeth clenched. Another sigil flared to life. As he backpedaled, he prepared a 3rd-circle Explosion. It was dangerous in a confined space like this, but Illan could easily see something was off about Lucas. There was a primal feeling down in his gullet that told him that if he didn't use it, he wouldn't be given another chance.

However, as he was just about finished, he noticed it. A sizzling ball of lightning was in Lucas's hand, shooting off in unison with his own spell.

Wait.

A ball of lightning?

Did that mean Lucas was classed?

But wait... wasn't Ball Lightning a 3rd-circle spell...?

What the hell did that mea--

The explosion happened between the two men, throwing the wonder away from Illan's mind.

*BOOM!*

The blast wave washed over the corridor, shaking the surroundings. A window broke with a clatter. A thick cloud of smoke rose, separating the two men. The moment of peace appeared to stretch, but Illan knew better than that. The situation was unpredictable.

His mana surged as he began forming a barrier around himself. As long as he managed to buy himself a few seconds, he would be fine--

"Young master, please stop!" he heard Nimue raise her tone. But it was too late.

The smoke parted.

Lucas blurred forward, almost untraceably fast. Although Illan's barrier had already started forming, he broke through it effortlessly, the construct shattering with a faint jingle.

Before Illan even realized what happened, Lucas's fist was already making contact with his face.

*CRACK!*

The sickening sound of his jaw breaking reverberated in his skull. Lucas's blow was several times stronger than before.

The world spun. Ringing sounded. Momentary blackness overcame Illan's vision as the man felt the sudden **** reverberate in his skull. He tried to lift his hand, to do something, but strangely, he found himself completely unable to give out commands to his own body. A lurching feeling appeared in his abdomen like his stomach was preparing to release the dinner he'd eaten.

*WHACK!*

He had no way to respond as he fell to the ground. His body didn't obey anymore. His lips moved, but no words could come out. His eyes looked at Lucas almost blankly as the other man lowered himself to his knees. Yet, within the swirling vision, he could see it. The dominant stare of Lucas's amethyst eyes. And the worst part? He could not see any emotion on his face. He could expect anger, a sense of satisfaction, anything at all. Yet, the white-haired man showed only a stone-cold expression, one that Illan knew Lucas was incapable of. It was the face of someone who'd gone through hell and back. Not even a predator staring at its prey. It was the face of a man simply finishing a job.

Illan struggled. He tried to say something, to plead, to admit defeat.

But Lucas's hand only lifted silently, grim and solemn, knuckles stained with his blood.

And then, he saw it. Something happened. Only ringing entered Illan's ears, but he could swear he heard someone call out something. In an instant, Lucas disappeared from his vision, flung backward by some magic.

...

The world blurred out. Sunlight streaming through the window was reduced to nothing but stings of warmth on his skin. Focused on Illan's progressively more distorted face, he lifted his hands. Then, he lowered them in turn, the motions slow but punctuated by their ****.

Within him, numerous sensations burned. The pained beating of his heart reminded him of Nimue's fragile state. The blood she'd shed made him feel pure fury. He had to protect her. He had to prev--

Suddenly, he felt his body stop moving, snapping him out of his thoughts.

A familiar voice echoed throughout the corridor.

"ENOUGH!" Ismeria boomed, carrying a power that seemed to bend light all around.

The momentary confusion didn't last as he noticed a sigil of magic on his chest, an incredible **** suddenly pressing against him and flinging him back several meters.

A second or two passed. Lucas breathed in unsteadily, slowly rising on all fours. His rapid heartbeat started abating, his fingers twitching as he felt his body weigh on him.

He felt his mind clear by the second. The red mist from his vision waned. The presence retreated, far past what he could reach with his mind. His body felt heavy, like he had just done something beyond his ability. He could feel his intestines twist and turn.

Another sigil flared to life beneath him, shimmering with magical power. The gravity it summoned pressed down like a mountain, rooting him to the spot. He gritted his teeth as his body struggled just to hold itself upright.

Lucas **** himself to look up.

Three figures stood in the far part of the corridor, several meters from him, their gazes fixed on him, emotions ranging from shock to fury.

Ophelia stood in the middle, her expression that of pure shock and disbelief. Her blue eyes flickered between him and her fiance on the ground, her mouth half agape as though she was trying to process what could've happened.

On the far left, next to a window, stood Lis'te. His gaze was sharp, his hand clenched. Green aura was formed around his fists as he was prepared to step forth. However, his face betrayed a layer of confusion, as the man did not recognize him.

On Ophelia's other side stood his mother. Vanitous as her dress was brilliant, it strangely complemented her blue eyes and dangerous expression. Her countenance showed anger and disgust, but Lucas could also read immense confusion from within.

"Explain yourself!" his mother spoke, her tone low and commanding.

A long moment of silence passed. Lucas's mind scrambled, but no coherence formed within. He could recall scraps - shards of what happened, of what Illan had almost done, of what he did - but they felt virtually unconnected. Why was he here? He could piece together something about Aveline and Tessa, but nothing concrete.

He looked sideways for a blink, his heart sinking.

Nimue leaned on a wall, her expression a mix of terror and tension. She breathed shallowly, almost trembling, her eyes nervously scanning his pose and then the lady of the house. Next to her, Aveline stood, just as confused as everyone who had just arrived, her strong posture towering next to the small maid. She held a hand on Nimue's shoulder gently, almost as if trying to reassure the elf woman.

Lucas felt his heart lurch at the sight. The hot blood in his veins cooled almost as if it could solidify. His eyes closed.

The gravity around him increased. Lucas felt his bones creak weakly in protest, his arms giving out and forcing him to his elbows. He coughed, a bit of blood leaving his mouth as some vessels in his body burst under the sheer pressure.

"Final chance. Explain yourself at once," Ismeria bellowed.

However, as he was about to speak weakly, the magic binding Lucas to the ground relented. A sound of screeching metal filled his ears, making the man wince.

In tandem with that, a soft voice pierced the air with an urgency he'd never heard in it before.

"=Stop it!="

The corridor fell into deep silence as Seraphina's voice echoed. Lucas just barely caught a glimpse of her silver dress slithering near him. Lifting his gaze, he noticed the cascade of deep green hair, unbound, and still swaying from the motion. Her breaths came in short, sharp rasps that seemed to mirror his.

Nobody moved for a long moment. Even Ismeria's temper appeared to quell slightly, the ire in her eyes dissipating if only for a fleeting moment.

Lucas released a shallow breath, flexing his fingers and slowly shifting his position. One knee on the ground, he gently lifted his head, feeling his entire spine protest against the motion. He groaned quietly; the **** of his mother's gravity magic was immense, even with his Magical Resistance. The aftereffects would definitely last a while.

"=Princess, that man is dangerous!=" Lis'te's voice cut the air. He stepped forward a little, stealing half a glance toward the two women to his left, almost as if looking for a reaction from them.

However, Seraphina stood her ground. "=He's not the one who started this,=" she stated flatly, a hand behind her lifting as though to emphasize her point.

"=You don't know that, Princess.="

Lucas could almost hear the green-haired elf bare her teeth as she stomped, stepping forward. "=I do!=" she exclaimed. "=Lucas was protecting that maid!=" her sleek hand moved, gesturing over to Nimue.

A brief moment of silence ensued. Lucas looked at his mother, instantly noticing the shock written on her face. Ophelia's gaze also turned to Ismeria, after which it bounced to meet his. He could see the tension within rise, further amplified when she looked at Illan slowly moving on the ground. Snapping out of her state, she immediately lowered herself to her fiance, slowly helping him stabilize to a sitting position.

Lis'te frowned, seemingly picking up on the situation. "=What did you call him, Princess?=" he asked carefully, switching between Seraphina and Lucas. The white-haired man could see that Lis'te was immediately drawing some unknown connections, most likely deciphering his identity.

Seraphina suddenly flinched, realizing what she had said. She hastily turned, casting a sidelong gaze at Nimue and Aveline. However, she and everyone present already knew; the secret was out.

The bubbling tension sizzled.

'This is bad.' Lucas realized. 'We need to diffuse the situation.' he looked at his eldest sister.

Ophelia reciprocated his gaze after a short second. Lucas did his best to mouth his words to her. Gently lifting a finger of his hand, it looked almost as if he were pointing toward the ceiling for some reason. From within his mind, a mental spell surged, half a command, half a thought.

<I owe him.>

He noticed her blink, understanding flickering in her blue eyes. She visibly tensed, if only momentarily, before her entire form deflated.

"Mother," Ophelia suddenly said, turning to Ismeria. "I believe we should handle Illan's state first."

The family's head turned, her expression shifting as she sized her firstborn briefly. Then, her eyes flickered to the man Ophelia supported.

"I think he's in too rough a shape at the moment to answer anything," Aveline nodded as well whilst stepping closer, stealing a hasty glance toward Lucas. As their gazes met, he could notice her amethysts shine with a warning, clearly telling him to not even squeak.

'...Aveline's protecting me, too...?' Lucas almost frowned. He knew Ophelia would be on his side, for once at least. But his blonde sister also cooperating, however coincidentally to his wishes, surprised him deeply. The Aveline he always knew would step aside, not wanting to step into the line of their mother's ire.

However, his brooding was halted when he felt his muscles clench. The entire ordeal came back in full, his body shifting in protest. Several joints in his body felt like they'd just recovered from an unnatural exercise, something that even put Deuce's training to shame. His legs felt like they might give out if he tried to stand. His feet ached, especially the left one, which he had used to kick Illan.

...

Lucas frowned and closed his eyes, the shifting words of the talk before him fading into obscurity. Everything felt fuzzy - his thoughts, his body, his mind. In sincerity, even though he could sense the presence gone now, he was still not sure if he was back in control. It felt as though he could slip into the void at any moment.

...

"Lucas."

He suddenly heard Ismeria call out to him. The tone's volume made him realize she had stepped closer.

Opening his eyes and looking up, he met the razor-sharp stare of sapphires that threatened to cut him open. Ismeria's face was donned with a look that did not hide her disdain for him. Standing barely two meters from him, her pose was slightly tense, her hand lightly poised in his direction. She looked ready to use magic on him again.

His eyes flickered around briefly, and he suddenly realized the corridor had become nearly empty. Nimue stood by a wall, her eyes red and her cheeks ridden with thin lines she gently stroked. Her staggering breaths were proof of her state, her gaze locked onto him, her entire form quivering. Aveline stood next to her. However, bar the two and his mother, the corridor was now empty. However long his brooding took, it was enough for even Ophelia and Illan to leave.

But he had no time to ponder when Seraphina and others left. Instead, he reciprocated the stare Ismeria gave him.

"...Mother."

His response was weak, punctuated by his voice's coarseness and his dry throat.

"Consider yourself lucky. I would gladly punish you here and now," she said slowly, each word carrying weight that tangibly pressed onto his shoulders. "But because we have guests, I will postpone it until they return home."

Lucas didn't answer, instead lowering his head and looking at the floor. However, his spirit was anything but calm. He knew Ismeria would not hear his explanation, now or later. No, he had broken a clear rule she'd given. There was no way for him to defend his case. Inwardly, he could only ponder on what kind of punishment she'd give him.

"Until the end of their stay, you will remain in your room. If I hear of you leaving, you will wish I had punished you here. Aveline," she turned to her middle child. "Make sure he gets there."

"I will, Mother," the blonde Stormrider answered flatly, her head lowering.

Then, the head of the Stormrider family turned around, giving the corridor one last look before going away.

Lucas took a deeper breath. The aftermath of his conflict with Illan was obvious now. The window that broke when the man's Explosion spell was intercepted wasn't the only thing that broke. The paintings on the nearby walls had tilted visibly, and one was even partly burned. The carpet he was still on was crumpled and slightly torn. The tapestry on the wall had visible scorch marks and cuts, too. Even the air felt perturbed beyond recognition, despite a faint breeze entering through the missing window.

"Let's go, Lucas."

Aveline stepped closer. Despite her strong posture, her tone was almost compassionate. Looking down at him, she waited calmly for his response.

He didn't answer. Instead, he slowly stood up, leaning on a wall for support when he felt his knees almost give out.

Almost immediately, he felt some small hands supporting him, strong despite their fragility. He didn't dare look at Nimue as the three walked away.

-20 minutes later-

Lucas slowly opened his eyes. The atmosphere of Nimue's room felt chilly, yet it bore unspeakable weight. His shirt lay sprawled on a chair by the small table. The mirror on the tall wardrobe reflected faint light that came from a manalamp standing on the far dresser. The accessories the maid had atop shone faintly, almost as if inviting to be picked up.

Silence permeated the room. Feeling pressure on his left shoulder, he gently listened to Nimue's physical command, carefully lowering it to his thigh.

They were alone. Aveline told him to go with Nimue to get patched up before he was to return to his room. Lucas could tell, however, that there was a faint warning underlying his sister's words. She was undoubtedly concerned about the situation, even if she didn't show it to their mother.

...

The small maid worked on his wounds, her tender movements calculated and precise. However, in the silent isolation they were now in, he could hear the quiet sniffling she tried to hide. Her soft cheeks were marred with faint, red lines of obvious origin. The quivering of her hands made his heart throb heavily. Even when he would return home beaten on a regular day, Nimue's hands remained steady. The change, its sight, and the knowledge of why it was like this made his stomach turn.

"...Nimue," he spoke quietly. "Are you alright?" he looked at her with concern.

She closed her eyes, turning her face away. Her hands lowered, forming fists on her hips.

"W-Why..." she lamented. "W-Why did you d-do that...? You... Lady Ismeria i-is enraged..."

"...what was I supposed to do?" he asked, but the question felt rhetorical. "Let Illan do what he wanted?" his tone lowered almost dangerously. "What if something more had happened?"

Nimue slowly opened her eyes. Looking at her hands, she slowly unfurled them. The small wound on her hand was already healing, barely a tiny red mark on her soft skin.

"I... I-I wouldn't have let him..." she said slowly.

"You almost did, Nimue," he retaliated. "And I can't stand that thought."

"B-But... why? You could've just... said something... not jump at him..." she trailed off, unsure whether she wanted to continue her own thoughts. "W-Why did you do that...?" she asked, her voice full of genuine question. Under that, however, he could sense layers of emotions that no doubt permeated her.

Lucas looked at her.

The black-haired elf before him, **** as she was beautiful. The small, soft maid with fitting attire that faintly showed her alluring curves but still emphasized her innocence. He studied her earthy green eyes, more vivid than any painting could ever express. Her soft cheeks that always perked up when she gave him her beautiful smile. The thin line of her lips that left a lasting mark on his own when they had kissed.

He looked at Nimue. Really looked.

His heart beat unevenly. Words pushed at the back of his throat, tangled with everything he hadn’t said until now. But this time, he didn’t stop them.

"...because I love you."

Nimue froze. Her green eyes widened, darting to his in disbelief. Her breath hitched audibly, her whole posture stiff with confusion, as if her ears had betrayed her. "W-What?"

"I love you, Nimue," he said, his voice firmer. "I don't care what my mother says. I would rather be punished a hundredfold than see you harmed again."

The elf woman trembled. Almost immediately, her ears dropped, new tears striking her cheeks.

"N-No... y-you... You shouldn't..." she broke down, her head lowering. "I-- You s-shouldn't...!" her voice raised. She shuffled, making a little more space between them. However, the conflict was clearly written in both her behavior and the way she looked at him briefly. She wanted this. He wanted this. They both knew it. They both understood it.

Lucas's heart pounded. His hand grasped Nimue's gently.

"Nimue," he said, his voice firmer.

She looked at him, confusion piercing through her state.

"You are the only person who is always on my side," he said. "You always accepted me the way I am. You never ridiculed me. I really do love you."

Nimue's eyes closed. Her hand, still intertwined in his, trembled before it clenched gently.

"Y-Young master..." she began.

"Call me by my name, Nimue," Lucas said gently. "Please. You're the only one who deserves to."

Nimue hesitated. However, that uncertainty didn't last. Her next breath came like something she had fought too long to suppress, finally finding release.

"...Lucas."

She looked back up at him. As their gazes met, the two understood it. The hidden message. The unresolved longing. The mutual feelings. The way they both felt.

There was no point stopping. Not anymore. They've held back long enough already.

They didn't even realize when they leaned in toward each other. Their lips met in a wet embrace.

---

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