* * *
The next day, with Killian’s permission, Nael stepped onto the deck.
Edward, struggling under the weight of a birdcage, was releasing crows one by one.
Raised in a noble household, his hands were unaccustomed to work, and even opening a cage felt clumsy.
Every time a massive crow flapped its wings, he let out a startled yelp.
Feeling sorry for him, Nael glanced at Ren, silently asking if he could help.
But Ren shook his head firmly.
“Absolutely not.”
John, watching from the side, chuckled as if he were enjoying the show.
Nael sighed and decided to suppress his urge to help.
They said the birds would grow restless if confined for too long, so they were released once a day to stretch their wings.
Since they were trained, they wouldn’t lose their way and would always return, or so Ren explained.
Dressed in worn-out clothes, Edward rubbed his face roughly with his sleeve.
Even while struggling to tidy up the cages, he was pushed around by the sailors.
His standing on the ship was even lower than John’s.
“Nael.”
Lost in thought, Nael turned as a long cloak was draped over his shoulders.
“The wind is cold. You should go inside.”
“Master.”
As Killian stood beside him, it was as if an enormous wall had formed between them and John and Ren.
The bright, radiant world suddenly faded into dull gray.
“I was waiting for a letter. Can I stay just a little longer?”
“Hm.”
Nael tugged lightly at Killian’s sleeve.
Just then, a distant cry rang out.
Caw! Caw!
Killian raised his hand toward the approaching bird, and with a sudden gust, the crow landed precisely on his hand.
Its sharp wings brushed against Nael’s cheek, sending a chill down his spine.
The bird spread its dark wings wide, as if flaunting its elegance.
“Ah!”
Killian pulled a folded letter from the bird’s leg.
“Edward!”
Edward hurriedly stumbled up the stairs, carrying an empty cage that was clearly too heavy for him.
He kept bumping into things, causing loud clanging sounds to echo across the deck.
Panting heavily, Edward barely managed to keep his balance. Yet no one offered him a helping hand.
His gaze flickered between Nael—who stood close to Killian—and John and Ren, before he clenched his teeth in frustration.
His pride was deeply wounded, and he trembled with suppressed anger.
“How dare—”
Killian’s voice, laced with an unmistakable threat, cut through the air.
“Shall I gouge out your insolent eyes to make you come to your senses?”
“N-No! That’s not what I meant!”
“Kneel.”
Edward immediately dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead to the ground.
Killian lost interest after that, rolling the letter and handing it to Ren.
Nael, too, had no interest in Edward anymore.
His eyes were fixed on the letter in Ren’s hands, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
If his heart were a fish, it would be flopping visibly on the surface.
Rustle.
The letter unfolded in Ren’s calloused hands.
“Ah.”
“What is it, Ren? What does it say? Is my sister okay?”
Ren hesitated, glancing at Killian.
Nael’s anxiety spiked, his grip on Killian’s sleeve trembling.
“Read it. Now.”
Ren read aloud in a calm voice.
“The medicine given by the baron had side effects, causing a severe episode. However, she is currently recovering. They inquired about the substance, but the baron has been uncooperative. If we can obtain information about the medicine, it may help speed up her recovery.”
Nael’s legs gave out beneath him, but Killian caught him before he collapsed.
“She’s recovering, isn’t she?” Killian reassured him.
Even with his limited knowledge, Nael knew it wasn’t normal for someone to stop coughing completely in a single day.
He hadn’t realized it at the time—he had only been frantic, checking if his sister was breathing.
Then the baron had arrived…
He tried to recall, but there were no clues.
By the time he had returned home, his sister had already taken the medicine.
“Nael. Calm down.”
“Was my sister in pain? She must have been, right? It must have been critical… She almost… died, didn’t she? No, that can’t be. That’s not what happened, right?”
“I left my man by her side. So you don’t need to worry about that.”
“Ugh…”
In an instant, cold sweat drenched Nael’s back.
Edward, kneeling on the floor, was frozen solid like ice, not even daring to breathe, as if he were trying to blend into the background.
Killian, looking down at Nael, furrowed his brow.
“Take that thing away.”
Hic. Edward was unceremoniously dragged away by the sailors, his legs trailing behind him.
On any other day, he would have lashed out, screaming at them not to lay a hand on him and causing a ruckus.
But now, he silently descended the stairs, glancing back repeatedly, burning the image of Nael—still standing above him—into his mind.
Killian lifted Nael into his arms.
“Go rest.”
Nael felt like someone had scooped out a chunk of his insides, leaving him hollow.
It was an emptiness unlike anything he had ever felt before.
He should never have blacked out that first night with Killian.
He should have done something—anything—to stay behind.
If not, he should have at least succeeded in escaping at the harbor.
But as his past wrapped around him like iron chains, tightening with each moment, he came to a realization—if Killian hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have made it through that crisis.
Even if he had stayed, it wouldn’t have mattered.
He had no power to summon a physician, and even if he begged the baron, he wouldn’t have been able to get proper medicine.
Killian’s man had been there.
He would have handled things at the right time.
Nael ran his fingers over the neatly written letter.
He couldn’t read it, but it was the first letter he had ever received.
He didn’t resent the baron.
He never expected anything from him, so there was no room for disappointment.
He had lived with nothing but gratitude that he and his sister had managed to survive at all.
But it was bitter—like swallowing a handful of coarse sea salt.
Nael let out a sigh.
Killian sat down across from him.
“When we reach the north, you’ll receive a proper letter. You’ll be able to send one too.”
“…Thank you.”
“Look at me.”
Nael slowly lifted his head.
His red eyes flickered like flames.
His sculpted features were cold and sharp, yet his gaze burned as if carrying fire within.
But why did that fire feel so warm?
Tears welled up in Nael’s eyes before he could stop them. He broke down.
“Forget the bad news. Only remember the good. When we arrive at the estate, I’ll send more gold.”
“Master… I can’t go back, can I? You’re not going to send me back, right? Just a little longer… Just for a little while, please let me stay.”
“…”
“Please…”
Nael buried his face in his knees, sobbing like a child.
Killian stroked his trembling back, then stood up.
As he left the bedroom, the gentleness he had used to console Nael vanished.
His face, now masked and unreadable, carried no trace of warmth.
“John,” he ordered in a steady tone, “go in. Comfort him—but don’t let him have any foolish dreams.”
* * *
