The room was steeped in stillness, the only sound the faint whistle of wind slipping through the window's narrow gap. Moonlight spilled across the wooden floor, pale and cold, painting both Luca and Celestia in silver shadows.

Luca sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers loosely interlaced as he stared at the floor. His voice finally broke the silence, low and contemplative.

"It's… a lot to think about," he finally murmured, breaking the silence. His voice was low, almost reluctant, as though speaking the words made them heavier. He exhaled through his nose, leaning back slightly. "First of all… it wasn't even the place where the final battle took place."

Celestia, sitting across from him, gave a slow nod. Her golden hair caught the moonlight like strands of frost, but her eyes remained fixed on him, calm yet guarded.

Luca's expression darkened as he went on, "What's worse is that a single attack from the Devil Emperor—without even appearing in person—is still haunting the world after seven thousand years." His fingers stilled, curling into a fist on the table. A bitter thought crept in: He was just toying with me in the game… but in reality, that bastard had the power to wipe out the hero party without even spending a minute.

Celestia's eyes hardened. "And all those corrupted people and beasts we saw…" Her hands tightened in her lap, knuckles whitening. "They're the ones who died seven thousand years ago." The words came with a tremor of rage. She clenched her fists tighter. "And still, we have found no means—no method at all—to seal the Devil Emperor."

Luca looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. "It's not like we came back empty-handed." He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, his voice low but firm. "We at least know something about what we're facing. That war we saw… those cultists… the sheer cruelty—" His jaw tightened. "We are not prepared. Not even close."

Celestia's eyes flickered in acknowledgment, her lips pressed thin.

"And the heroes back then…" Luca's mind replayed the chaos on the battlefield. "They weren't just strong individuals—they were organized. Different units. Rolph leading the warriors, Raymond controlling those beasts, that violet-haired, veiled woman commanding the magicians… every one of them fought like they'd already accepted death." He looked away for a moment, his gaze tracing the faint frost forming on the window. "We don't have that… not yet."

"We will," Celestia said, but there was a weight in her tone—more conviction than certainty.

"That means," Luca pressed on, "we can't let the cultists get their hands on any resources. No artifacts, no strongholds, nothing that can strengthen them. And…" he hesitated, then forced himself to continue, "…the truth is, we're all too weak. Not just in strength, but in seriousness, in temperament. Back there, they fought like the possessed—people who knew they'd die if they faltered for even a heartbeat. And we…" He let the silence finish the sentence for him.

The wind outside rattled the windowpane.

Finally, he added quietly, "The strongest in our continent—Your Majesty—is still not as strong as even those ten figures who died holding the line… let alone the heroes."

Celestia's head dipped, her golden hair slipping forward like a curtain, shadowing her face. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress, nails pressing faintly against her knees. She didn't answer right away, but Luca could see the way her shoulders rose and fell—like someone silently holding back a heavy sigh. His words had struck deep.

Without thinking, Luca reached forward and took her hands in his.

Her fingers twitched at the sudden contact, and her eyes widened in the faint moonlight—but she didn't pull away.

"But we still have an advantage," he said, his voice steady but warm. "Think about it—what if we knew nothing about what's coming? How much worse would that be?"

Celestia's gaze lowered to their joined hands. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

"I know you're not strong enough yet," Luca continued, leaning forward slightly. "But no one else is, either. And right now… you are the hope of this world. The one everyone is looking to in this mess."

Her shoulders tensed at his words, a tiny tremor running through her frame.

"But you're not alone," Luca said firmly, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. "We're all in this together. It's not just your burden—it's ours. We'll carry it. All of us."

For the first time, her posture eased. The rigid set of her back softened, and she finally looked at him. Her eyes—usually sharp, commanding—held a flicker of something far more fragile.

Luca realized then: she was under far more pressure than she let anyone see. That must have been why she'd thrown herself into danger without hesitation. Even the strongest carried invisible scars.

Celestia slowly pulled her hands free, glancing aside. "…It's late. Let's just sleep."

He nodded and rose from the bed. But before he could take a step away, her voice stopped him.

"J–just… sleep here."

He froze mid-step, turning back. "Are you—"

"Just sleep," she cut in quickly, a faint flush rising to her cheeks. "Before I change my mind."

Luca hesitated, his mouth opening and closing once, before awkwardly climbing back onto the bed. He shifted all the way to one side, careful to leave as much space between them as possible. Celestia turned her back to him, facing the far wall.

For a while, neither spoke. The faint sound of their breathing filled the room, the moonlight stretching between them like a silent bridge. And before the awkwardness could settle too deeply, the weight of exhaustion pulled them both into sleep.

A faint wash of sunlight slipped past the curtains, spilling across Luca's face and coaxing him from sleep. His eyelids fluttered open, still heavy with drowsiness, until a subtle, unfamiliar weight registered against his chest and along his left side.

Blinking himself fully awake, his gaze drifted downward—only to widen slightly. Resting atop him was a head of golden hair, silky strands spilling over his shirt like molten sunlight. His left arm was curled around her slender frame, as if it had found its place there naturally during the night. Celestia's breathing was slow and even, her face softened in slumber, the steel of her usual expression nowhere to be found.

For a moment, he simply stared—quiet, almost reverent. His hand moved on instinct, fingers brushing gently through her hair. She also has this side of a normal woman he thought, the words quiet in his mind.

A faint sigh escaped him, followed by a small, amused chuckle. If anyone saw her like this… His smile tilted wryly. What anyone, if she wakes up like this…she'd probably kill me first before explaining.

Realizing the danger of lingering, he carefully eased his arm back, mindful not to jostle her. His palm supported her head as he guided it to rest upon the pillow, moving with the slow caution of a man defusing a trap. Once her hair was free from his hand, he slipped away from the bed.

He padded softly across the room, the floor cool beneath his feet. A moment later, the bathroom door clicked shut behind him, the faint sound of running water beginning.

Only then did Celestia's eyes open. There was no hint of sleep in them—only the lingering warmth of a blush on her cheeks. She lifted a hand to touch her hair, fingertips brushing the spot where his hand had rested.

Her lips curved faintly, though her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I was awake for an hour before him anyway…"

Time passed as Celestia and Luca finished getting ready to leave. The warm scent of herbal tea still lingered in the small cottage, and the quiet rustle of fabric came as Celestia adjusted her cloak, fastening the clasp with practiced grace.

Grandma stood at the doorway, the soft morning light outlining her figure. Her eyes twinkled with a knowing warmth as she embraced Celestia briefly, leaning in just enough to whisper something inaudible—yet her subtle, hinting smile made Celestia's ears tinge pink.

Luca, shouldering his satchel, gave a respectful bow.

"Thank you for everything, grandma."

"You take care now, boy," Grandma said, patting his arm with surprising firmness before stepping back.

Moments later, the deep cry of the Vermillion Phoenix split the air. Its massive wings unfurled, scattering a faint gust across the clearing as the two climbed onto its back. The feathers beneath them radiated a gentle heat, a reminder of the beast's burning heart.

As they soared upward, the cottage became a speck below. The crisp wind rushed past, tugging at Luca's hair and cloak. He leaned back slightly, letting the sunlight warm his face, a rare sense of relief softening his shoulders.

Finally… back to the academy. The thought carried a quiet sigh in his mind. It's been such a short time… but it feels like a year has passed.

His gaze wandered over the endless stretch of mountains and clouds—until a small furrow appeared between his brows.

"Huh…" He leaned forward slightly, scanning the horizon. "This… isn't the route to the academy though?"