Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Edelgard entered the room in silence, but her face already betrayed her irritation.

The stale, heavy air hit her nose at once. She frowned, crossed the room without a word, and threw the shutters open. The midday light flooded the chamber like a slap.

“Ugh…” Dorothea groaned, pulling the blanket over her face. “Edie… leave me… alone…”

Edelgard didn’t answer. She grabbed the blanket and yanked firmly. Dorothea resisted, her fingers clenched around the fabric as if her life depended on it. For a moment, the two struggled in silence. Then Edelgard pulled harder, and the cover slipped away, falling limply to the floor.

“You can’t keep burying yourself like this,” Edelgard said, her voice sharp as a blade.

Dorothea curled back into her pillows, hair disheveled, gaze averted. “Leave me alone… I said…” Her voice was hoarse, almost extinguished.

Edelgard planted her hands on her hips. “It’s been a month. A month I’ve let you wallow in the dark without a word. But enough. Do you really think this helps you—digging yourself deeper? Has it ever helped anyone?”

“I’m not in the mood…” Dorothea muttered, still not looking at her.

Edelgard clicked her tongue in frustration. “Not in the mood? And when, exactly, do you plan to be ‘in the mood’? When there’s nothing and no one left around you? I’ve been patient up to now, even understanding… but everything has its limit, Dorothea. It’s been a month and you’ve done nothing for the class! Even Linhardt has been more productive!”

Dorothea’s head snapped up, her eyes flashing with wounded pride. “That’s not true! I helped with the research! I helped with Manuela, I helped with—”

“Flayn,” Edelgard cut in, her tone razor-sharp. “You helped with Flayn, yes. And thank the goddess you didn’t completely forget what you owed Manuela. But where were you when the others went down into that damn basement? When the professor risked their life? Where were you, Dorothea?”

Dorothea clenched her teeth, her eyes hardening as she muttered bitterly:

“And you? You weren’t there either.”

Edelgard froze. Her lips parted, ready to snap back, but nothing came out. A shadow flickered across her eyes, one she quickly swallowed down. At last, she turned her gaze aside, crossed her arms, and replied in a cold, measured tone:

“I had other responsibilities. As class representative. At least I have an excuse.”

Dorothea let her head fall back onto the mattress, her hair spilling messily around her worn-out face. Her voice rose, weary, like a breath that broke apart:

“What’s the point… No one’s waiting for me anyway…”

Edelgard clenched her fists, her gaze hard.

“That’s enough. I know you’ve been doing this for almost half your life, Dorothea. That it used to be your job. Playing the drama queen, sighing like the whole world owed you its pity. But at some point, it has to stop. You’re not twelve anymore. This is real life.”

“Don’t talk to me about my age!” Dorothea growled. “My age just reminds me of my birthday, and I’d rather not think about that at all!”

“Honestly, you’re ridiculous, Dorothea.”

Dorothea rolled across the mattress, turning her face toward Edelgard with slow effort. Her eyes, shadowed, fixed on her without expression—a mixture of weariness and defiance.

Edelgard sighed in exasperation.

“I’m tired of having to lie to all your admirers, telling them you went on some sort of therapeutic retreat in the mountains!”

A bitter laugh slipped from Dorothea.

“I don’t care about them. You could tell them the truth, that I’m rotting in bed, and nothing would change.”

“Believe me, I didn’t wait for your approval to tell the truth to a few particularly insistent ones,” Edelgard snapped.

Dorothea didn’t react. Her gaze drifted to the ceiling, indifferent.

Edelgard crossed her arms.

“And Professor Byleth may be letting you skip classes for now, but don’t push it too far. If you keep this up, you can kiss your diploma goodbye.”

Dorothea slowly turned her head, her voice rasping but laced with venom:

“Bernadetta skips half her classes, Linhardt sleeps through them, and no one says anything to them.”

Edelgard shot her a glare. “Linhardt has the best grades in the whole class. And Bernadetta complains, yes, but she always ends up doing the work. You… you haven’t done anything at all lately!”

She paused, her tone softening despite herself.

“The professor is worried about you. Truly. So I feel like, as class representative, I need to take some of that weight off her shoulders. To help you… get moving.”

Dorothea gave a twisted smile, almost cruel.

“I see. So that’s what this is. You just want to be the teacher’s favorite.”

Heat rushed to Edelgard’s cheeks. She turned her eyes away.

“That’s not it. I’m doing this because… you’re my friend.”

A heavy silence filled the room. Dorothea stared at her, her eyes glistening faintly, but her voice came out cold as ice:

“Then… if I’m really your friend… tell me, Edelgard. Can you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Can we sleep together?”

The heir’s eyes widened. Her brows knitted at once, and her voice cut sharp:

“We’ve had this conversation already. And I said no. I said it was over. And you, you really need to learn how to respect other people’s boundaries.”

Dorothea pressed her lips together. Her smile cracked, breaking into a pained grimace. She lowered her eyes, her trembling hands clutching the wrinkled sheet.

“No need to be so cruel… I know I’m terrible at this. Thanks for reminding me.”

Edelgard drew a deep breath, straightened, and walked toward the door. Her hand rested on the handle, but she turned back one last time. Her steel eyes locked onto Dorothea, her voice low and grave:

“You’re not alone. You think you are, but you’re not. All of the Black Eagles are waiting for you. The other houses too.”

Dorothea didn’t move. Her eyes stayed fixed on the wall, as if the words bounced off armor far too thick.

Edelgard exhaled, her voice almost hesitant now:

“…I promised I wouldn’t tell you this… but… Ingrid is worried about you too.”

Dorothea shot up in bed.

“What do you mean by that?! Ingrid… what?!”

But Edelgard had already opened the door. She didn’t answer, leaving behind only the echo of Dorothea’s voice. She would not do all the work for her. If Dorothea wanted answers, she had to pull herself up on her own.

Out in the hallway, Edelgard drew a deep breath, regaining some composure. She hadn’t taken three steps before another door opened further down, the professor’s. Byleth was just stepping out of her room.

Edelgard greeted her with a brief nod.

“Professor.”

“Edelgard,” Byleth replied, her tone neutral but accompanied by a small nod of acknowledgment.

They naturally fell into step, walking side by side down the corridor bathed in midday light.

After a moment of silence, Byleth turned her eyes toward her.

“I saw you leaving Dorothea’s room… How is she?”

Edelgard sighed, her shoulders lowering slightly.

“Badly. She’s still depressed. But that’s nothing new, Dorothea has always been… emotional. She lives everything in extremes. So this fight with Ingrid… it shattered her completely.”

Byleth nodded, listening intently.

“And you, Edelgard… what did you think of that quarrel?”

The young woman folded her arms, her gaze hardening.

“To begin with, it’s obvious they were both at fault. And the alcohol didn’t help—neither for one, nor for the other.”

“But you were there for the second part of the fight, weren’t you?” Byleth asked gently.

Edelgard nodded, her eyes lowering for a moment.

“Yes… When I saw Dorothea run off in tears, I followed her. And when I heard what Ingrid said to her… I wanted to hit Ingrid…”

Her voice cracked sharply, almost too loud, but she didn’t take it back. She continued, lower:

“Dorothea was clearly in the wrong at the start. She never should have kissed her without consent. And Ingrid’s immediate reaction, as harsh as it was, could still be understood. But after that… her words…” Edelgard clenched her fists. “They were unforgivable. You can be angry, but to speak to someone like that… no.”

A silence stretched between them. Finally, Byleth asked calmly:

“Do you think they’ll be able to make peace?”

Edelgard turned her eyes away, her expression shutting down.

“I don’t know. They both regret it. But between Ingrid’s misplaced pride and Dorothea’s emotional instability… I doubt they’ll ever go back to what they had.”

A faint smile then curved Byleth’s lips.

Edelgard froze, startled.

“What…?” She frowned. “You’re smiling?”

“Yes.”

Edelgard’s eyes widened. “That’s… unsettling. We so rarely see you smile, and when you finally do… it’s while talking about your students’ misfortunes?”

“No,” Byleth answered softly. “It’s not their fight that makes me smile. That saddens me, actually. What makes me smile… is you, Edelgard.”

The young heir flushed scarlet and turned her eyes away, her pace slowing.

“Y-you’re just saying that to throw me off, aren’t you?” She furrowed her brows, trying to recover her usual cold tone. “What do you mean, me?”

“The way you take care of her,” Byleth explained, her gaze calm upon her. “It’s… beautiful to see.”

Edelgard stiffened at once.

“I-it’s nothing. Just my duty as class representative.”

“Really?” Byleth asked, her voice softer now, almost teasing. “If it were Flayn, who only just joined the class, would you have done all this as well?”

Edelgard narrowed her eyes, caught off guard.

“I… I don’t know.”

A small smile returned to Byleth’s lips.

“That’s what I thought.”

Edelgard felt her heart quicken, and for the first time in a long while, she had no idea what to say.

Edelgard kept walking, her measured steps echoing in the hallway beside Byleth’s.

“Do you think Dorothea will go to Ingrid? Or the other way around?” the professor asked suddenly, her voice calm.

Edelgard frowned slightly, thoughtful.

“Honestly… I doubt it. I don’t know Ingrid well, but from what I’ve seen and heard, she’s someone rigid in her principles. She either apologizes immediately, or never at all. And since she hasn’t sought Dorothea out by now, I don’t see why she would.”

Byleth nodded quietly.

“As for Dorothea…” Edelgard went on, her gaze drifting for a moment. “She’ll come out of her room eventually, of that I’m sure. She’s stubborn, for better or worse. But this time… after what Ingrid said to her…” She hesitated. “I doubt she’ll find the courage to face her.”

Byleth gave another small nod.

“In your opinion, should outsiders intervene?”

Edelgard thought for a few seconds before replying evenly:

“To push them into talking, yes. But what they say to each other… that’s theirs alone. If they want any chance to mend things, it has to come from them.”

“I came to the same conclusion,” Byleth said with a faint smile.

Edelgard glanced at her sidelong, wondering why she was asking all these questions. Then she realized she’d been following the professor without even knowing where they were going.

“Where are you headed, Professor?” she finally asked.

“To find two students. I need to speak with them.”

“Who?”

“Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd and Sylvain José Gautier.”

Edelgard was tempted to ask why, but held her tongue, not wanting to seem intrusive.

They walked in silence for a long while, their footsteps echoing in the empty halls.

It was Byleth who spoke first again.

“I’m truly glad to see you care so much for others.”

Edelgard let out a quiet sigh.

“I do it because it’s my duty. Nothing more.”

“Perhaps.” Byleth’s voice was gentle. “But I think there’s something else.”

Intrigued, Edelgard turned her head toward her.

“What do you mean?”

“Pure kindness.”

Edelgard gave a bitter, almost ironic laugh.

“You must be mistaking me for someone else.”

But Byleth shook her head.

“No. All my life, I’ve been a mercenary, first accompanying my father on missions, then on my own when I came of age. Out there, I saw how rare true kindness is. But you, Edelgard… you have it.”

The young heiress abruptly turned her eyes away, her face hardening.

“You’re only saying that because you don’t truly know me. If you knew everything… you’d change your mind quickly enough.”

Byleth lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug.

“Darkness doesn’t exist without light, and the reverse is true as well. Everyone carries their share of shadow. Me too—probably more than you could imagine.”

She paused, turning her gaze directly into Edelgard’s.

“But if your own darkness ever threatens to consume you… I’ll be there to stop it.”

Edelgard stared at her, stunned. Then a nervous laugh slipped past her lips.

“In that case, you mustn’t leave me.”

“That’s exactly what I intend,” Byleth replied simply, laying her hand on Edelgard’s shoulder.

A violent shiver ran through Edelgard from head to toe, but she forced her face to remain impassive. Her heart was pounding faster, her throat dry, every fiber of her body urging her to retreat or protest. But she did nothing. That warmth, that reassuring weight on her shoulder… she couldn’t help but crave it.

She turned her eyes away, her cheeks burning red.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Byleth smiled faintly.

“We’ll see what the future holds.”

Edelgard clenched her fists at her sides, as though to anchor herself to something solid. For only one thought kept echoing in her mind:

And what if I want her to keep that promise?

Sylvain staggered back from the force of Felix’s blow, his sword nearly slipping from his hands. He raised his arms in a weary gesture and took a step back.

“Alright, I’m done. I’m stopping here.”

Felix growled, his blade still raised.

“We’ve barely started.”

“I’ve already given enough for today,” Sylvain sighed, stretching.

“Given enough?” Felix clicked his tongue, irritation sharp in his voice. “You’ve done nothing. You never take anything seriously. Do you think you can stay carefree your whole life?”

Sylvain arched a brow, a mocking smile on his lips.

“Carefree, me?”

“Yes.” Felix lowered his sword with a sharp gesture. “You turn everything into a joke. You run from everything. It’s pathetic.”

Sylvain burst out laughing, but his eyes were hard.

“You sound just like Ingrid.”

“Exactly. You should listen to her more often,” Felix shot back dryly.

Sylvain’s smile faded.

“Ingrid’s been ignoring me for a month.”

“And I don’t blame her.” Felix sheathed his blade. “I should probably do the same.”

Sylvain clenched his fists.

“You’re harsh, Felix.”

“No. Realistic.” Felix swung his sword at a training dummy. Wood cracked under the strike. “Ingrid told me how you behaved at Dorothea’s birthday. Like a complete bastard.”

Sylvain let out a bitter laugh.

“Ah, so that’s it… But remind me, wasn’t it Ingrid who slapped someone that night? Not me. So maybe I wasn’t the only bastard there, huh?”

Felix’s black glare cut into him.

“If even she doesn’t want to speak to you anymore, then you really crossed a line. You’re a pain in the ass normally, but that night… you were worse.”

Silence hung between them. Sylvain lowered his gaze, shoulders slumping.

“I had my reasons for not being in the best mood.”

“Your reasons? So what?!” Felix snarled, slashing the dummy again with rage. “I don’t give a damn about your excuses.”

Sylvain’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing.

“You don’t give a damn?! You’re the reason, Felix!”

Felix froze mid-strike, his back to Sylvain, motionless.

“… What do you mean?”

“You really want me to say it?” Sylvain’s voice trembled with fury. “You accepted Annette’s invitation instead of mine. And what was I supposed to do, huh? Watch you laugh together? Watch you… and keep my mouth shut?”

Felix’s grip on his sword tightened until his knuckles turned white.

“That’s none of your concern.”

“The hell it isn’t!” Sylvain surged forward, grabbed Felix by the shoulder, and forced him to look him in the eye. His green eyes blazed with rage and hurt.

“You broke my damn heart!”

Felix growled, his face cold and closed.

“There was never anything between us. You’re imagining things.”

Sylvain shook from head to toe.

“Imagining things?!” he shouted. “You kissed me, Felix! After I told you I loved you!”

Felix wrenched himself free.

“I only did it to shut you up! Nothing more!”

Sylvain staggered back a step, as if struck.

“And after that… you go out with Annette?!”

Felix spat on the ground, offering no reply.

The silence was deafening. Sylvain’s fists clenched, his breath ragged.

“Tell me, Felix…” His voice cracked. “Who do you love? Me… or Annette?”

Felix didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and drove his fist straight into Sylvain’s jaw.

The blow made the redhead reel, his hand flying to his cheek, eyes wide.

“… Damn,” he breathed before hurling himself at Felix.

Their bodies collided, Felix’s sword clattering to the ground, and soon the two were rolling in a violent brawl.

Punches rained down, months of rage and resentment finally erupting.

Sylvain ended up on top, pinning Felix down, his fist slamming into his face.

“You think this is just a game to me?!” he roared, his voice raw with pain. “You think I’m making it all up?!”

Felix, his face bloodied, spat up at him, unable to answer in any other way.

“Ahem.”

Sylvain turned his head, alerted by the deliberate cough. He froze when he spotted Edelgard and the professor, who had clearly been watching for a while.

Arms crossed, Edelgard said coldly:

“I wasn’t aware you were planning to learn hand-to-hand combat.”

Sylvain was about to apologize, but at that exact moment Felix landed one last punch squarely on his jaw. The blow knocked him to the ground, and Felix, seizing the chance, sprang to his feet. Without a word, he stormed off, brushing roughly past Edelgard on his way.

Sitting on the floor, Sylvain blinked. The only guy in all of Fódlan capable of shoulder-checking the future Empress of Adrestia without flinching… of course it had to be him. Luckily for Felix, Edelgard didn’t seem to hold it against him.

Getting back up, Sylvain forced a light tone:

“Need a hand, ladies?”

Edelgard gave a curt nod.

“The professor actually needed to speak with you.”

“For a beautiful woman like her, I’d do anything,” Sylvain replied with his usual roguish smile.

Edelgard shot him a glare, but Byleth remained expressionless. Her voice was steady as she spoke:

“I’d like you to confirm something for me.”

“Alright… though you’ll have to be a little more specific,” Sylvain answered.

“I want to know if Ingrid would be willing to help some students learn how to ride pegasi. And if so, when she’s available.”

Intrigued, Sylvain thought aloud.

“So far, she’s only free on Sundays. And… yeah, I think she’d agree. Especially these days, actually.”

Edelgard raised an eyebrow.

“And what’s going on these days?”

“Just a hunch,” he shrugged. “We’re not exactly on good terms right now. But I’ve noticed she can’t sit still, always trying to help everyone… though I don’t know why.”

Edelgard folded her arms.

“Maybe it’s not zeal, but guilt. A quarrel with someone, a guilty conscience… so she makes up for it by being useful.”

Sylvain stared at her, thoughtful.

“A quarrel with someone…” he muttered. Then his eyes widened and he clapped his hands. “Of course! It’s obvious! She feels guilty about giving me the cold shoulder!”

Edelgard frowned.

“Giving the cold shoulder… to whom?”

“Well… to me,” Sylvain replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

A sigh of irritation escaped Edelgard. She turned to Byleth.

“Do you have all the information you wanted?”

“Almost,” the professor answered calmly.

“Almost?” Edelgard repeated with thinly veiled disgust.

Byleth didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stepped closer to Sylvain, silent. The redhead watched her curiously but didn’t move. When she reached him, she lifted her hand and gently pressed it against his bruised cheek.

Edelgard’s cheeks flushed slightly, her brow furrowing as she tried to understand what Byleth was doing. Sylvain, on the other hand, simply smiled his usual charming smile.

“Well, professor… I didn’t take you for the forward type. But if you’d like to continue, I won’t stop you!”

Byleth remained impassive, her eyes fixed on him.

“Does it hurt?”

Sylvain’s smile froze. He didn’t answer.

Does it hurt?

Of course it does. Every strike from Felix still rattled through his bones, his jaw screamed from the impact, but none of that compared to the pounding in his chest.

Of course it hurts. But he’s not allowed to say that, is he? He’s Sylvain Jose Gautier, after all. The guy who laughs everything off, who flirts with anyone, who pretends he doesn’t care about anything. The one who hops from conquest to conquest because it’s easier than risking real love. The one Ingrid despises, Felix scorns, Dedue merely tolerates, and Dimitri drags along because every group needs a fool, doesn’t it?

He clenched his teeth, but his expression stayed the same, playful, charming.

I crack jokes, toss out cheap compliments, because if I stop for even two seconds, if I let them see what’s underneath, I’ll fall apart. So I hide. It’s easier to play the bastard than admit I’m just… a lost little man.

His gaze flicked briefly toward Edelgard, then returned to Byleth.

And yet, even while playing that role, I still manage to hurt people. Ingrid. Felix. Everyone who ever mattered. Everything I touch, I ruin. And maybe… maybe that’s exactly what I deserve.

Byleth withdrew her hand.

“If you’re injured, go see Manuela. She’ll take care of you.”

She took a few steps toward Edelgard, then stopped, glancing back one last time.

“And if it’s your heart that hurts… you can talk to me about it too. Sometimes, talking helps.”

Then she turned fully to Edelgard, adding softly:

“Doesn’t it?”

Sylvain watched her walk away, a bitter laugh slipping from his lips.

So that was it… she wanted him to help Ingrid and Dorothea reconcile.

Of course he would. He wasn’t stupid: some people could actually bring something good into Ingrid’s life. Dorothea was one of them.

But him…?

He wasn’t so sure.

He wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

9 years earlier

Year 1171

The tavern reeked of spilled liquor, the stale smoke of pipes, and the sweat of men slumped over their tables.

Dorothea wrinkled her nose but didn’t move. She knew that if she breathed too deeply, she’d start coughing, and coughing in a place like this was like ringing a bell: everyone noticed right away.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the loud woman.

She laughed too hard, her voice cutting through the half-asleep murmur of the room. Her hand, though, never strayed far from her purse. Of course… rich people never got rich by accident.

Dorothea bit her lip. She’d have to be clever, wait for the exact moment when the woman’s hand grew heavy, when her fingers slackened, when drink dulled the instinct to guard her money.

Her stomach growled again. Louder this time. She curled into herself, clutching her belly as if to quiet it. If only her body understood this wasn’t the time… but it never understood.

She pictured a cake. Just one. Just one, no more. She could almost smell its sweetness from here. She imagined the golden crust, the sugar that stuck to your fingers, and jealousy burned hot in her chest.

The “clean” children could have as many as they wanted.

They didn’t need to dig through trash or beg in the cold.

Her fists trembled.

Stealing was filthy, it made her exactly what she despised… but what else did she have? No one ever offered her a hand. Not once. All she had were her legs to run, her tricks, and this gnawing fear of starving.

And yet…

What if that purse carried someone’s memory, like her cap once had?

Her heart clenched. The image of her mother’s stolen hat struck her, raw and sharp. She had clutched it night after night, whispering to a mother who would never return. And then one morning it was gone, and it felt like losing her mother all over again.

Her eyes stung with tears.

If she stole this… would that woman cry, the way she had cried?

Dorothea shook her head.

No, she didn’t have the luxury of thinking. If she hesitated, she’d lose her chance. And tonight, she needed to eat.

The guilt was already heavy, but her legs moved on their own, as though they’d long ago learned to betray her.

She slid into the shadows, each step measured, breath held, eyes fixed on the purse.

Dorothea’s heart hammered as she finally reached out her hand. Her fingers trembled a little, but they found the leather strap, warm beneath her palm.

She tugged, slowly… ever so slowly… and the purse came free. Her stomach twisted with fear and excitement all at once. She had it. Now just back away.

Slowly… ever so slowly…

She took one step back, and everything collapsed. With a sudden, careless gesture, the woman flung her arms out mid-sentence, and her elbow smashed into Dorothea’s face. Pain exploded in her nose, tearing a muffled cry from her throat, and she fell backward, clutching the purse to her chest.

“Oh! Sorry, little one, didn’t see you there…”

The woman’s voice was hoarse, rasped raw by drink. But then she froze, her gaze falling to the object in Dorothea’s hands. Her face crumbled.

“But… but that’s my purse!”

Panic surged in Dorothea’s chest. She sprang to her feet, ready to bolt like a startled mouse, but the woman was surprisingly quick despite her swaying steps. A hand fisted in her hair, yanking hard. Dorothea let out a small cry, eyes blurring with tears.

“Stay right here, you!”

Dorothea struggled, clawing at the air, but the grip was iron. The armored man who had been with the woman stood, looking awkward.

“Sorry, Manuela… but I really have to go.”

He turned on his heel without another word. The woman, still clutching Dorothea, twisted toward him with a bitter pout.

“Of course… just leave. Like all the others…”

Her voice broke, but her gaze quickly hardened, pinning Dorothea in place.

“And this...this is your fault. You scare men away too!”

Dorothea stared at her, incredulous. Nonsense. Even she, a child, could see that man had just been looking for any excuse to slip away.

“Give it back. Now.”

The little girl knew the game was lost. Fighting would only earn her more blows. Her hands shook as she held out the purse. Manuela snatched it away in one swift motion, but still didn’t release Dorothea’s hair. Her eyes, glassy with drink yet oddly sharp, studied her.

Dorothea met her gaze head-on. She was used to it: men in the street stared at her more and more often. She didn’t know why, but she had learned never to look away.

“Why do you steal ?” the woman asked.

Dorothea shrugged, answering with dry sarcasm:

“Because I’m bored. Don’t you ever do that, too?”

A rough, almost sorrowful laugh slipped from Manuela’s lips.

“And your parents, do they know you do this?”

“My mother’s dead.”

Silence.

The woman narrowed her eyes.

“And your father?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Everybody has a father. Babies don’t just make themselves, you know?”

“Well… uh… maybe. But I never had one, anyway!”

The reply cracked like a whip, blunt and painfully honest.

Manuela froze, taken aback as though the words struck harder than expected. Then she sighed, and instead of releasing Dorothea, she stood, dragging her along like one might drag a stubborn kitten.

“Hey! Let me go!” Dorothea protested, panic rising.

“No chance,” the woman muttered. “You think I’m letting a girl of… what, ten? Eleven maybe?… sleep out in the streets?”

“I don’t know how old I am,” Dorothea snapped stubbornly.

Manuela stopped, staring at her for a long moment before grimacing bitterly.

“Your parents could’ve waited until you were a little older before dying on you…”

Her tone was harsh, but Dorothea caught something else in it. A pain that looked far too much like her own.

“You’re coming with me. Just for tonight. After that… you can do whatever you want.”

“I don’t wanna!” Dorothea protested, struggling against her.

But the woman didn’t let go. Her grip on Dorothea’s small hand was unexpectedly firm.

“Listen, I won’t sleep easy knowing I left a kid out on the streets in this weather.”

Dorothea shot her a dark glare, her eyes burning with contained rage.

“There are plenty of kids like me out here! So your good conscience, you can shove it up your ass!”

The woman burst out in a rough laugh.

“In that case, consider yourself lucky. My troupe paid for me to have a fancy suite at an inn nearby.” She cast Dorothea a weary glance. “I was hoping to spend the night with a handsome man, but since thanks to you none followed me… there’s space left for you.”

Dorothea clenched her fists, snapping back, sharp as a blade:

“I don’t need anyone making space for me. And it’s not my fault that guy left, he’d been looking for an excuse to ditch you for a while!”

Manuela, Dorothea had remembered the name, shouted earlier by the armored man, frowned.

“Then that man is an idiot.” She paused, then half-turned toward her. “Remember this, kid. When you grow up, you’ll need to be careful. Men… most of them are idiots.”

Dorothea stayed silent, puzzled by a statement she only half understood.

They walked a few more minutes, until finally they reached the inn. Manuela bent down slightly, one painted finger pressed to her lips.

“Shhh. Not a sound.”

She let go. Dorothea felt the emptiness in her hand, and every instinct screamed at her to run. She knew it, if she bolted now, Manuela would never have the strength nor the will to chase her. But something held her back. Maybe it was the rain beginning to fall outside… or the faint, unfamiliar feeling that this time, maybe, she could trust. So she followed.

The door opened, and Dorothea froze, breath caught in her throat. It was enormous. The floor gleamed, the furniture shone with polish, and in the center spread a bed so wide it could have held five street children.

“Shocked, huh?” Manuela snickered, watching her reaction.

Dorothea didn’t dare answer, her eyes darting everywhere.

“All right, first step: you’re going to wash up.”

“Why?” Dorothea asked, genuinely confused.

“Because you stink!” Manuela replied bluntly.

Dorothea scowled, offended. She sniffed her sleeve. It didn’t smell that bad, no worse than usual.

But Manuela was already handing her a large, soft towel and a long silk shirt.

“Here. One of my shirts. On you, it’ll work as a nightgown. Go on.”

Dorothea took the fabric gingerly, as though afraid to damage it, and stepped into the bathroom.

She pulled the door shut and turned the lock. A reassuring silence fell. She placed the shirt on a stool and slowly undressed.

In front of the mirror, she froze. She hadn’t seen herself in years.

Her reflection showed a little girl with a bony frame. Her collarbones jutted out, her arms were nothing but thin sticks, and her legs, too long for her body, looked warped by fatigue. Her skin was covered in grime, streaked with old scratches.

She bent forward, staring at her flat belly, still growling. Her brown hair, greasy and tangled, clung in strands around her face. And yet, in the middle of that frail silhouette, her green eyes shone with a strangely intense light, as if all that remained of her pride and her life had taken shelter there.

A knot formed in her throat. She turned away, ashamed of what she saw.

“So, how’s it going in there?” Manuela called from the other side.

Dorothea jumped.

“Y-Yeah!” She lowered her voice, muttering, annoyed: “Old hag…”

“I heard that!” Manuela shot back. “Come on, start by getting wet. There’s a basin. Don’t be afraid, it’s hot water.”

Dorothea dipped her hand in, then yanked it back.

“It’s hot!” she exclaimed, eyes wide.

“Of course it’s hot! What did you think, I’d hand you a bucket of ice water? Put both feet in and sit down, you’ll get used to it.”

After a moment of hesitation, Dorothea climbed into the basin. Warmth wrapped around her legs, then her body. She let out a small sigh without realizing it, her cramped muscles finally relaxing for the first time in forever.

Her gaze drifted to the row of bottles. She picked one up gingerly, frowning. “What are all these bottles?”

“That? Shampoo. You pour a little in your hair and rub. Not half the bottle, just a little!”

Dorothea clumsily opened it and squeezed out a huge glob into her hand. “Oops.” She grimaced at the thick, slimy texture. “Ew, that’s gross.”

“Rub!”

She rubbed it into her hair. At first doubtful, her eyes suddenly widened as foam began to form. “Oh! It’s like… it’s like snow!”

Dorothea had seen snow only once in her life, the Adrestian climate was too warm for it to be common. At first, she’d found it amusing, watching it fall from the sky… until she realized snow came with the cold, and she’d liked it much less after that.

Manuela burst out laughing through the door. “That’s right, snow! You got it!”

Dorothea began playing with the foam, fascinated. She blew on it, popped the bubbles with her fingers, then kept piling it over her head. The sweet scent drifted to her nose, and she froze, entranced.

“It smells… nice…” she whispered, as if the word itself felt strange in her mouth.

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point!” Manuela answered, ever ironic.

Next came the soap, sliding across her skin. The white lather turned a dirty gray as the grime melted away.

Dorothea stared at her arms, now clean. She lifted her wrist to her nose, breathed in deeply, and gave a timid smile.

“It smells… like cake.”

From outside, Manuela roared with laughter. “Maybe, but don’t take a bite out of yourself!”

Dorothea spent a long while scrubbing every corner of her body, marveling at the strange, wonderful sensation of cleanliness.

When at last she stepped out, she dried off with the soft towel, slipped into the silk shirt that fell all the way to her ankles, and looked at herself once more in the mirror.

She was still thin, still exhausted… but no longer dirty. She almost looked like a normal little girl.

When Dorothea finally came out of the bathroom, her hair still damp and the oversized shirt falling all the way to her ankles, Manuela lifted her gaze to her and let out a low, appreciative whistle.

“Well… that’s already a lot better.”

Dorothea pressed her lips together, uneasy under that gaze, but said nothing. Manuela stood, rummaged through a bag, and pulled out a large wooden brush.

“Sit on the bed.”

Dorothea frowned. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to brush your hair. You can’t go to sleep with that bird’s nest on your head.”

The girl hesitated, then clumsily climbed onto the bed.

Manuela sat behind her and set the brush gently into her thick hair. At the very first stroke, Dorothea winced.

“Ow! That hurts!”

“Of course it does,” Manuela replied calmly. “Your hair is full of knots. But you should be glad: it’s long, strong, and beautiful despite everything. With a bit of care, it’ll become one of your greatest prides, I’m sure of it.”

Dorothea pouted. “What’s the point of taking care of it?”

Manuela’s smile dimmed a little. She kept brushing, slower this time, speaking in a steady voice.

“What’s the point? Because, sweetheart… for women like us, especially without a Crest, appearance matters more than anything. More than your wit, your kindness, your humor, your compassion… All of that comes second. But if you are beautiful, truly beautiful, the world will open up to you. Doors will unlock, eyes will turn. And with those eyes, opportunities will follow.”

Dorothea stayed silent, staring at her knees. She didn’t know what to say.

Manuela continued, a faint veil of sadness in her eyes.

“You’re already lucky, starting from where you did. If you regain your strength, you could become one of those rare women people call magnificent. And believe me… that’s worth more than all the prayers in the world. So use what you have, make it your weapon. It’s the only way to survive, and maybe even to get something better.”

For a few moments, only the sound of the brush tugging gently through knots filled the air. Then Manuela broke the heavy silence with a softer question:

“By the way, what’s your name?”

Dorothea hesitated. Her lips trembled slightly, as though saying her name cost her effort. But at last, she whispered:

“Dorothea. Dorothea Arnault.”

Manuela smiled faintly.

“Dorothea… It’s a pretty name, you know. It comes from the old tongue. It means ‘gift of God.’”

Dorothea lowered her head.

“A gift of God… That’s kind of cliché.”

“So what? Do you think you’ve got a gift?”

The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. And anyway, I don’t believe in the Goddess.”

Manuela arched a brow.

“You don’t?”

“No.” Dorothea’s voice was sharp, trembling not with shame, but with anger. “I prayed… prayed with all my strength. I begged the Goddess to save my mother when she fell ill. And she did nothing. So what’s the point of believing? Believing in a Goddess who’s absent, or powerless? No thanks. I don’t have time for that.”

A heavy silence fell.

Manuela’s hand slowed, but she said nothing. She simply kept brushing Dorothea’s brown hair, each stroke like a quiet answer of its own.

Dorothea, surprised, felt her shoulders ease despite herself. She had spoken more than usual, much more easily. And strangest of all… she didn’t regret it.

Dorothea blinked awake at the first ray of light that slipped through the curtains. The oversized shirt still clung slightly to her skin, but she felt warm, almost too warm, a rare sensation for her. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and realized that Manuela was no longer lying beside her.

The woman was at the desk, elbows on the wood, leaning over a parchment. When she heard Dorothea stir, she looked up and smiled:

“You’re just in time. Before I go, I need you to do me a little favor.”

Dorothea stiffened instantly, wary.

“And why would I do that?”

Manuela shrugged, feigning innocence.

“Because I just gave you a warm, peaceful night. You could return the favor, couldn’t you?”

Dorothea squinted.

“I thought you were doing it just to ease your conscience. And warm, sure… but peaceful? Considering how you snore, I’d say that’s debatable…”

Manuela shot her a sharp, offended look.

“Maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that I need you. And I promise, it’s nothing difficult.”

The girl let out a loud sigh, then nodded.

“Fine… what do you want?”

The woman stood and handed her the parchment. Dorothea took it but immediately frowned. The symbols on it had nothing to do with the alphabet she vaguely recognized.

“I don’t know how to read…” she said sharply.

Manuela stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder, and pointed at the paper.

“This isn’t writing. It’s a musical score.”

She pointed to two small signs, one after the other.

“This is a C. And this is an A.”

Dorothea raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

“And I’m supposed to do… what with that?”

Manuela smiled mischievously.

“Sing. I’ll show you.”

She took a breath, then sang a few simple notes, her round voice filling the room. She gestured for Dorothea to repeat after her.

“Come on, try. You’ll see, it’s easy.”

Dorothea hesitated, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

She opened her mouth, but the sound that emerged at first was too low, almost a whisper.

“Louder!” Manuela encouraged.

Dorothea tried again, attempting to mimic the sequence of notes Manuela was showing her. Her voice trembled at first, but as she repeated the exercise, it grew clearer. She followed Manuela’s gestures for pitch, and without realizing it, she let herself be carried away.

Once, twice, three times… Gradually, she felt something ignite within her. The strange joy of letting her voice unfold, of hearing sounds rise from her like something she had never released. Her eyes widened slightly. She liked it. Truly.

“Again,” Manuela said softly, almost hypnotized.

Dorothea obeyed, repeating the sequence of notes. This time, her voice resonated through the room, clear, surprisingly accurate. She even found herself smiling without realizing it, her cheeks glowing with a new warmth.

When she finished, panting as if after a run, she looked up at Manuela… and stepped back a little.

The woman was staring at her, lips slightly parted, almost shocked. Her eyes shone with a light she rarely showed—a mixture of surprise and disbelief.

“Dorothea…” she murmured. “By the Goddess… do you realize what you just did?”

Dorothea frowned, offended, and snapped back:

“But… this is the first time I’ve ever done this! Of course it’s not perfect right away, but you...”

She didn’t get to finish. In a sudden movement, Manuela crouched down, set her hands firmly on Dorothea’s frail shoulders, and locked eyes with her.

“Listen to me carefully, Dorothea. I’m going to ask you one single question. And I want you to answer only with yes or no.”

Dorothea swallowed, intimidated. Against her will, she nodded.

“Do you want to live a life different from this one? Maybe better, maybe worse… that will depend on you. But a new life, nonetheless.”

The girl blinked, her lips parted. Silence dropped over the room like a heavy blanket.

A new life?

Her gaze fell to her thin knees, to her hands nervously clutching the oversized fabric of Manuela’s shirt. Her heart pounded hard in her chest.

She thought of her mother, her feverish skin, her wheezing breaths in the darkness of a too-cold alley.

She thought of her whispered prayers in the dead of night, begging the Goddess to save her… and of the evening when she had found her body cold, holding her tightly as it no longer breathed.

Since that day, Dorothea had done nothing but survive. Steal, run, sleep on hard stone or in mud when it rained.

She knew too well the taste of hunger, that gnawing hollow in her stomach like a fierce little beast.

She remembered the looks of passersby: some full of pity, others indifferent, some disgusted, and others unsettling in ways she didn’t want to think about.

Was that her life?

Walking every day in the shadows, waiting for the end?

But then… there had been something else.

That song. That warmth in her chest when her voice had risen.

As if, for a moment, she had breathed a new kind of air. As if her heart itself had been singing.

A new life.

The thought frightened her. Like a leap into the void.

But at the same time… wasn’t it worse to stay on the edge of the cliff, waiting for everything to fade away?

She clenched her fists, lifted her head to Manuela. Her wide green eyes gleamed with a wavering, but resolute, light.

“…Yes.”