* * *
Nael used to wait eagerly for Killian to return to the main castle before sunset.
Staring at those ornate gates, wondering when they would open.
Filled with anticipation, hope, and loneliness.
Though he hadn’t been completely alone during the day—John and Ren were there—they couldn’t replace Killian.
Only Killian could make him feel like he belonged.
His broad, warm chest had always given Nael comfort.
He missed it bitterly.
Click.
The poorly fitted wooden door creaked open.
The knight held a small candlestick.
With the sun gone and night fallen, even he needed a source of light.
Fire…?
A sudden memory flashed through his mind.
He furrowed his brow, trying to catch the faint image.
“The Grand Duke must not miss you much. It’s been awfully quiet.”
“Master…”
Nael paused mid-sentence, then nodded, as if in agreement.
He had to play along, to make their vigilance loosen.
The tip of his tongue stung from the lie.
“Maybe so.”
“After going as far as tattooing his name on you, to toss you away like that. Typical.”
Killian Deville was not someone who should be the object of anyone’s mockery.
He had returned time and again from battles where life and death danced closely. He deserved every ounce of respect.
A washed-up knight in rags had no right to speak his name.
Nael felt anger rise, but kept it hidden.
He quickly composed himself and looked up.
His body was genuinely exhausted.
His hands and feet were going numb.
His green eyes stared at the knight, as if trying to read his lips to understand him.
“Did you… take me because you hate Master—the Grand Duke?”
He almost said kidnapped, but his voice faltered.
“Me? Maybe. Could be. I had another goal originally, but if taking you away made the Grand Duke feel some kind of loss—well, that’s a bonus. Still, it all seems pointless now. Didn’t think it’d be this quiet. Tsk.”
‘I really don’t understand this person.’
Nael let out a sigh, feigning calm.
He wanted to know the reason—but he also knew: curiosity, sometimes, is a poison that kills.
He had learned that during his time at the Count’s estate.
The steward had constantly warned: Pretend you didn’t see, pretend you didn’t hear. That’s how you survive.’
At the time, I didn’t understand what he meant. But now, I do.
“Sir… I want to rest now.”
“……”
“……”
“We’re moving toward the port tomorrow. Best to get some rest. It’ll be a long journey.”
“About a month, right?”
“That’s right. You remembered. I thought you were dimmer than that.”
The knight smirked, raising one side of his mouth awkwardly.
‘I had to escape before tomorrow, yet no plan came to mind. I loathed how helpless I was.’
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The man who had spoken to the knight earlier in the day slammed the door.
Dust scattered from the battered wood, drifting in the air.
“Get out here!”
“Tch. Such a temper.”
Grinding his teeth in annoyance, the man left the room.
Creeaak, the hinges groaned ominously.
The door shut… but no sound of a lock.
Either he planned to return soon, or he knew I had no way of escaping.
Nael clenched his frozen hands into fists.
Pressing himself against the door, Nael strained to listen.
Even the sound of his own breathing roared like thunder in his ears.
He held his breath, channeling all focus to his ears.
“Put him to sleep with this.”
“You want me to drug him?”
“Your job is to keep him alive.”
“Hmph. Is that necessary? Sir Dylan wouldn’t care if the brat died.”
The man’s voice was indifferent, like someone discussing a stranger.
He clicked his tongue, then added:
“He needs to be in one piece—arms and legs intact.”
A hushed conversation followed, too quiet to make out even with his ear against the crack in the door.
Were they disagreeing?
Was someone refusing?
One of them suddenly shouted in a foreign language Nael had never heard before.
His body jerked at the sound, his spine prickling.
The man was clearly agitated, muttering curses under his breath.
Something between them was off.
Sir Dylan may have orchestrated this, but he was now imprisoned in the Grand Duke’s castle—likely summoned by Killian.
With communication cut off, the two men were handling things alone.
If they were clashing, perhaps that tension could work in Nael’s favor.
He bit his lip hard.
His lips were dry and cracked from lack of water, quickly splitting to bleed.
Still, he couldn’t stop.
He had to stir his dulled senses—somehow.
As footsteps approached, Nael scrambled back into bed.
From behind the door came faint voices and the sound of the lock being turned.
“They released the crows.”
“Tch. What a hassle.”
“Dylan anticipated this. Keep your eyes open. And don’t light a fire. Even the slightest smoke will draw those damn crows. If you see one, shoot to kill.”
“Click.”
They seemed to leave. The door closed again. Silence settled.
‘Ah… Fire. Smoke.’
Nael let out a faint breath.
A small candle flickered before his eyes.
“If I fail…”
‘I might die.’
Yet even knowing the risk, his resolve hardened.
Nael threw off the worn bedding.
Even took off his single boot, careful not to make a sound on the floorboards.
He piled the blankets against the door.
The fire would serve two purposes: stall them from coming in too quickly, and create a distraction.
Whether it was the fire or his plans being discovered—this might be his last chance.
‘Please, let me be right.’
With a prayer, he held the candle to the bedding.
Holding his breath, he steadied the short candle in his trembling hands, shielding the tiny flame.
Fssshhh, crackle.
The stubborn flame teased him, flaring and fading like a cruel game.
Cold sweat dripped down his spine, unrelated to the chill.
As memories clicked into place, his heart thundered. His hands froze.
His own voice echoed in his head, ‘Don’t light it. It’ll kill you. Please don’t.’
The image of a blackened corpse surged to the surface.
Then John, with burn scars twisting his face, smiled a broken smile.
His blistered skin, blotched red and raw, haunted Nael.
‘Soon, I’ll be just like that.’
[Nael, why are you crying again?]
‘Because I’m scared.’
[Don’t you trust me?]
‘Master… I’m scared. Please, come find me.’
Whoosh—the fire caught.
The bedding ignited, roaring to life.
Nael smiled faintly at the warmth.
His knees buckled under him, but he forced himself upright and picked up the hard pillow.
His hands no longer trembled.
He had to move before his body gave out.
‘Now’s the time to break the window.’
* * *
