"I Have No Weakness."

(Five Days Before the Sword Tournament)

The room was quiet, save for the ticking of the clock and the soft whisper of wind brushing against the windows. Moonlight spilled across the bed where Eva sat alone, knees drawn close, her eyes lost in the shadows cast on the floor.

She hadn't moved in hours.

Her thoughts wouldn't leave her alone—not since that duel. Not since Eyan's breath had brushed against her ear. Not since her heart had betrayed her.

Why did my heart race when he got close?

Her fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her nightgown.

"This is wrong," she whispered aloud, as if saying it could erase the feeling. "It's wrong, Eva. Your heart can't… can't beat for another man."

Her voice cracked, trembling.

Tears slipped quietly down her cheeks as guilt settled like stone in her chest.

Kyel.

The name itself made her shoulders shudder. She closed her eyes, letting the pain rise with each breath.

"Kyel…" she choked out. "I miss you."

Her voice was small in the silence, but heavy with ache.

She pressed a hand to her heart, shaking her head. "When will you come back to me?"

The wind sighed again outside, as if the world was answering with sorrow of its own.

And Eva sat there—conflicted, grieving, and holding tightly to a love that was beginning to hurt in unfamiliar ways.

Eva had cried herself into sleep, the tears on her lashes drying silently as the moon continued its silent watch over her.

But peace did not come with sleep.

It never did.

That familiar heaviness returned. The world around her shifted.

She was dreaming again.

That Night — In the Dream

"Mommy… mommy… mommy…"

The voice echoed softly—childlike, yet full of sorrow.

Eva stirred, her face creased with discomfort, her breathing uneven.

"Mommy, please wake up…"

She opened her eyes—and found herself somewhere else.

Mist rolled across the ground, thick and glowing with a pale, bluish hue. The world around her was quiet, as if time itself had paused. And standing beside her, crying softly, was a little boy.

"Leo?" she whispered, heart twisting.

He clung to her leg, sobbing. "Mommy…"

Eva dropped to her knees, her voice shaking. "Leo, what is it? Why are you crying?"

Leo threw his tiny arms around her. "I came to tell you something. Something important."

She held him close, rocking slightly. "Tell me, sweetheart. I'm listening."

He pulled back, his little face solemn now—too solemn for a child.

"Mommy," he said, his voice clear and fragile. "When the pain inside your heart becomes too heavy to carry... and you feel like something precious has been stolen from you forever…"

He placed his hand over her chest.

"…then make the wish. And offer the sacrifice."

Eva's breath caught.

Leo looked up into her eyes, the glow of the dreamworld reflecting in his.

"Only through loss can you reclaim what was meant to be yours. Only through the wound can the truth bleed free."

Her lips trembled. "Sacrifice… what do you mean?"

He smiled gently, like he knew she wouldn't understand just yet.

"Don't be afraid, Mommy. You'll be all right. Just remember… when the time comes—choose with your heart."

And then—

The dream dissolved into wind.

"Leo—!" she cried out, reaching—

Eva woke with a choked sob.

Her pillow was wet with tears. Her hands trembled as she touched her chest, where his little hand had rested just moments ago.

Her heart was still pounding. The silence of the room only made the words echo louder in her mind.

"Make the wish. Offer the sacrifice. Choose with your heart…"

She pressed a fist to her lips, trying to steady her breath.

"Leo…" she whispered. "What are you trying to tell me?"

---

(Royal Palace — Eyan's Office)

Hans knocked once and entered the office. "Your Majesty, Prince Velcon has requested a sparring session with you."

Eyan glanced up from his desk. "Very well. Let's go."

As he rose, Hans hesitated. "Your Majesty… you should leave your wedding ring."

Eyan paused. He reached beneath the collar of his shirt and pulled out the silver ring hanging from a thin chain around his neck. The metal gleamed faintly under the lamplight—cold and untouched. With a brief look, Eyan placed it carefully into the drawer, shutting it with a soft click.

"Let's go," he said again, turning without another word.

---

The private training ground rang with the clash of swords and the sharp breath of movement. Dust rose around the two figures locked in combat—Eyan fluid, precise, utterly dominant; Velcon quick, determined, but outmatched.

With a sharp pivot, Eyan disarmed him in a clean sweep. Velcon hit the ground with a thud, Eyan's blade at his throat before he could recover.

Velcon stared up at the Emperor, panting. "Your Majesty… are you angry with me?"

Eyan withdrew his blade and offered a hand. "Why would I be, Prince Velcon?"

Velcon took it, gritting his teeth as he stood. "I couldn't strike you even once. You're using your full strength."

Eyan's gaze was cool, unreadable. "If you wish to bring me down, you must strike at my weakness."

Velcon brushed dust from his sleeve, eyes narrowing in thought. "I've been trying," he said bluntly, "but I can't find one."

"Then I'm afraid I must disappoint you," Eyan replied, taking his stance again. "I have no weakness."

Velcon barely lifted his blade before Eyan came at him—swift, decisive, unyielding. Wood clashed; the Prince staggered, driven back by the Emperor's unrelenting force.

Hans watched from the sidelines, arms folded, noting the set of Eyan's jaw—the faint tension that spoke of something deeper than a simple practice bout. Each strike carried more weight than necessary, as though Eyan were cutting at thoughts he couldn't voice.

With a final sweeping blow, Eyan disarmed Velcon once more. The sword skidded across the sand.

Velcon straightened, breathing hard, respect mingling with frustration in his eyes. "You truly fight as though nothing can touch you, Your Majesty."

Eyan turned away. "Then take that lesson with you."

He dusted his palms, walking off in silence.