Beld-san was not there.

  The grandfather had sent him to fetch firewood. We didn’t need any. It wasn’t even cold.

  But I didn’t ask.

  Maybe he simply didn’t want to talk in front of him.

  Maybe he knew this conversation couldn’t be shared yet.

  The house was quiet.

  Not like the silence of the castle—so full of courtesy and emptiness.

  Here you could hear pleasant things: branches creaking outside, a blackbird calling far away, the soft rattle of wind against the shutters.

  And yet… the air had suddenly tightened.

  Like a string pulled too taut.

  Beld-san stood beside the table, the small bell he always carried hanging at his hip.

  His hands were clasped behind his back.

  He looked at me calmly. Not coldly.

  With a concern that didn’t need raised voices to be understood.

  「I believe it is time you told me why you are here. Outside the castle, Princess」

  He said it without harshness.

  But without softness.

  I didn’t try to invent an answer. I already knew he had understood.

  「I cannot go back」

  My voice didn’t shake.

  It didn’t sound strong either.

  It simply… was true.

  「The castle… was my home. But it isn’t anymore」

  「If I return, they will not receive me as a daughter. Nor as a princess」

  「Only as a problem」

  I swallowed.

  「And I no longer know what I’m supposed to be」

  I swallowed again. The knot in my throat kept growing.

  Beld-san did not move.

  But he lowered his gaze for a moment.

  He stepped closer and took the bell from his belt, turning it between his fingers as if thinking with his hands.

  「Do you know what this is?」

  I shook my head.

  「No」

  「A key」

  「But it opens nothing on its own」

  He lifted his gaze again, his expression gentle, almost melancholic.

  「Do you know who I am?」

  Another question without warning.

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  And this time, I had no answer.

  「Not exactly」

  「My family has served yours for generations.

  Not as soldiers. Not as servants. As guardians.

  Of balance」

  I didn’t move.

  I had fled hypocrisy and fa?ades, and yet I found myself facing more questions, more secrets hidden from me.

  He spoke slowly. Not for drama—because the words were heavy.

  「In Thiseia, for centuries, the power of kings never walked alone」

  「There was always someone else. A figure who did not rule, but without whom the throne could not stand」

  「That figure… was called the Staff」

  The word hung in the air.

  I didn’t know what it meant.

  But something in it pulled tight inside my chest.

  「Not an advisor. Not a mage.

  The one who shaped the king’s power.

  Its balance」

  It was hard to breathe.

  Not from shock—

  from accumulation.

  Questions I had carried for years tangled with new ones.

  「And he…」

  I paused.

  「Your grandson…?」

  The grandfather—Beld-san—nodded once.

  With sorrow.

  With pride.

  And with fear.

  「He is the last, like you.

  The Staff.

  Though he has never known it.

  And I… did everything I could so he wouldn’t have to bear it」

  The silence stretched.

  I didn’t want to speak.

  Couldn’t.

  I only looked at the bell.

  「I don’t understand anything…」

  「I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

  If I go back, they will use me.

  If I refuse, they will lock me up.

  If I resist, they will break me」

  「But if I stay… they will find me」

  I realized I had sat down.

  My shoulders were heavy.

  My throat burned. The room blurred like water over glass.

  Beld-san placed the bell gently on the table.

  「There is a place.

  Old. Hidden. Loyal not to the throne, but to the bond」

  「Pairs once trained there, when they still existed.

  They accept no visitors. But if the bell rings—and truly rings—they will open their doors」

  I lifted my head slightly, a thin thread of hope tugging inside me.

  「And you?」

  Beld-san didn’t answer immediately.

  He looked as though he had awaited that question for years.

  「I will go with you」

  「I have no other choice.

  I do not want him entangled in this. But if he is… I will not leave him alone」

  The grandfather—not the grandfather—nodded once, like someone who finally fits a piece back into place after years.

  He went to a small drawer and took out a rolled parchment, sealed with a dark thread.

  He placed it on the table.

  「We leave tomorrow」

  No solemnity.

  No ceremony.

  Just a decision that had already been made.