[Leif’s POV—Later—Leif’s Chamber]

When I pushed open the door to my chamber, I expected silence.

But I...wasn’t ready to see him like that.

Alvar was standing by the door—not in armor, not in his formal coat—but in plain pajamas. Soft grey, sleeves rolled, hair damp from a bath. He looked... home. He looked like my safe place.

He almost bumped into me. "What the—"

I looked up. "Alvar?"

His eyes flicked to mine, then past me. Not cold. Not angry.

Worse.

Distant.

"Where are you going?" I asked, already knowing I wasn’t going to like the answer.

He didn’t hesitate. "To the guest chamber," he said quietly. "I’ll be sleeping there tonight."

Something inside me snapped tight.

"...What do you—"

He moved to walk past me.

Reflex. Panic. I grabbed his wrist. "Alvar, what are you doing?"

He stopped.

But he didn’t look at me.

"I know you’re angry with me," I said, breathing a little too fast. "I know. But why do you have to separate yourself from me just because of—"

He yanked his hand out of mine.

Again.

Not violently. Not to hurt—but to get away.

That... hurt more.

"I should be the one asking that," he said, finally looking at me—and gods, his eyes. Not furious. Not cruel. Just tired. Hurt. Like I’d taken something from him and refused to give it back.

"Why," he asked, voice low and shaking, "why do you have to separate me from you, Leif?"

I swallowed, throat burning. "I’m not—"

"You are." His jaw clenched. "You smile at me. You kiss me. You sleep in my arms. And still...you do not trust me enough to share anything."

He took a breath, forcing the rest. "Just tell me the truth. I won’t be angry. I just demand the truth. Is that so hard for you?"

My lips parted.

No words came.

My throat filled with tears before my eyes did. I bit them back. I hated crying. I hated crying in front of him.

"I’m not shutting you out," I whispered. "I just—"

"Just what?" he snapped softly. "Just can’t tell me? Just won’t tell me? Just don’t trust me the way I trust you?"

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, hard.

I trembled and grabbed his hand again, holding it tight against my chest.

"Just give me time," I begged. "Please. I promise I’ll tell you everything. I just... need to be sure first."

He didn’t pull away. He just looked at me—eyes shaking, breath uneven—searching my face like he was trying to find the truth there.

"...Time," he repeated.

I nodded desperately. "Yes."

He slowly slipped his hand from mine. Not yanking. Not pushing. Just... removing himself.

"Alright," he whispered, voice barely audible. "Take your time."

Relief poured through me—until he took a step back.

"But while you take time..." He looked me in the eyes—really looked—and his next words shattered something inside me.

"...let’s live separately."

Everything in me went still.

My lips parted soundlessly. "Alvar—don’t—"

He turned away.

"I’m not punishing you," he said, voice stiff with restraint. "I’m protecting my heart until you decide if you want to let me in."

He walked to the door slowly.

Too slowly.

As if part of him hoped I would stop him again. But I couldn’t move. My legs wouldn’t listen.

He opened the door.

For a heartbeat, he paused in the doorway. Not turning. Not looking back.

"Goodnight, Leif."

And then he stepped out. The door closed gently. Not slammed. Not forced.

Just... closed.

And I?

I just stood there.

Still.Frozen.Watching the carved wood where he’d stood seconds ago, like if I stared long enough, it might open again.

It didn’t.

The silence was deafening. The kind that pressed against your ribs until even breathing felt like a sin. I blinked once. Then again. The room around me stayed the same—same fire, same bed, same everything—But it all felt wrong.

Smaller. Colder. Like even the air had left with him.

I sank onto the cold marble, my back hitting the edge of the bed frame as the air caught in my throat.

No sound came out. Not a sob. Not a cry. Just shaking. Silent, ugly shaking—like my body had remembered how to fall apart without making a noise.

Because what right did I have to cry?He was right.Every word of it.

He deserved the truth. And I—I couldn’t even tell him who I was.

The silence pressed against me like another punishment. My throat burned, but no tears came — I think I’d already drowned in everything unsaid.

Then—

KNOCK. KNOCK.

I froze. The sound hit too suddenly, snapping me out of the haze.

Forcing the tremor out of my voice, I said quietly, "Come in."

The door creaked open, and a familiar, booming voice broke through the still air.

"Leif!"

Daren’s head popped in, a wide grin plastered across his face. His beard was still streaked with ash, eyes gleaming like he’d just discovered gold.

I straightened automatically, wiping at the corner of my eye before he could notice. "Oh... Daren. What’s the matter?"

He stepped inside, his heavy boots thudding softly against the floor. "Matter? I’ll tell you what’s the matter—" he grinned, lifting something wrapped in cloth. "I fixed Luminael!"

Daren unwraps the bundle and holds the sword up. Luminael caught the torchlight like he was drinking it—smooth, whole, the cracks gone, the divine metal gleaming faintly with life again.

The sword looked... alive.

Different.But familiar.

I reached out slowly, fingers brushing the hilt. "He... he looks perfect."

Daren’s grin widened, his chest puffing up with pride. "Aye, I told you these old hands still got it! Took two sleepless nights, three spells I wasn’t supposed to know, and a whole barrel of patience, but look at him now!"

He rubbed his nose, his voice softening a little. "Even if he’s divine, metal is still metal. You just gotta know where to listen."

I nodded faintly, my voice quieter. "...Thank you, Daren. Truly."

He looked at me for a moment—the kind of look that saw more than I wanted him to. Then he chuckled, breaking the heaviness with forced cheer. "Heh. No need to thank me. Just promise you won’t break him again. Dwarven pride can only take so many holy meltdowns."

I tried to smile. Tried—and failed. My lips barely moved. "...I’ll do my best."

He seemed to sense the weight in the air but didn’t pry. That was Daren’s gift—he always knew when to pretend he didn’t see.

He cleared his throat, shifting the subject. "Anyway, repairs on the southern walls are nearly done. Give me a month and we’ll make this whole territory shine again. You’ll barely recognize the place."

I stared down at Luminael, the faint golden reflection dancing across my fingers. "I trust you, Daren."

He nodded once, grinning again—though his eyes lingered on me longer than usual. "Good. Then get some rest, lad. You look like you’ve wrestled ten devils and lost half of ’em."

"Something like that," I murmured.

He chuckled softly, waved a calloused hand, and made for the door. "Alright then. See you tomorrow, Leif."

"Yeah," I said, my voice barely holding. "Tomorrow."

The door shut behind him. The silence returned—softer now, but heavier somehow.

I looked down at Luminael resting in my hands. The faint divine hum pulsed under my palm—steady, quiet, almost like a heartbeat.

"You’re fixed now, huh?" I whispered. "Guess one of us should be."

Luminael didn’t respond. Of course it didn’t. The faint hum beneath its blade was weak, a quiet echo of what it once held.

Because it still needed something. It still needed me. But how was I supposed to give it anything... when I couldn’t even unlock my own seal?

I dragged a hand down my face, rubbing at my temples as fatigue settled deep in my bones. Every part of me felt too heavy, too tired—like even breathing had started costing something.

"How do I even unlock you..." I muttered under my breath, glancing toward the faint glow at my chest.

I set Luminael down beside the bed, the golden hilt catching the dim candlelight. My hands lingered on it a little longer than necessary—like touching it might remind me that not everything was lost yet.

Then I lay back.

The sheets were cold. The ceiling was the same shade of grey as my thoughts. I stared at it for a long time—long enough for the shadows to shift, for the candle to burn low, and for my mind to blur.

I told myself I’d just rest my eyes.Only for a moment.

But my body betrayed me before my mind could resist.

The heaviness crawled up slowly—a pressure behind my eyelids, the kind that didn’t feel like sleep but something deeper. Something pulling.

"...Not again," I whispered weakly, but the world was already slipping away.

My breath hitched once. The candle flickered. And everything went white.

Not peaceful white.Not light.

Just white.

Empty. Vast. The kind of color that swallows everything and gives nothing back.

The realm of silence.

I was standing again—though I didn’t remember getting up. My feet touched no ground, and my shadow didn’t follow. The air shimmered faintly around me, carrying the faint hum of something ancient and divine.

"...The White Realm," I breathed. My voice sounded too loud here—too human.

The endless whiteness stretched in every direction, folding over itself like mist pretending to be air. No horizon. No sky. Just light—and silence that felt alive.

I turned slowly, searching the nothingness. "Grandma?"

For once, I wanted her to appear first.Not to test me, not to whisper riddles, but to just be here.

Nothing.

"Grandma," I called again, louder this time. "I know you can hear me. I have questions, and this time—"

"This is the first time you’re looking for me, child."

The voice floated from behind me—warm, gentle, and terrifying in how calm it was.

I turned.

She was there.

The same old woman—silver hair cascading in waves that shimmered like spun moonlight, green eyes, robes shifting like woven clouds. The faint scent of lavender clung to the air around her, familiar yet distant.

Only now... there was something different. Something colder.

"Grandma," I said, stepping forward, my boots making no sound. "I have questions."

She smiled, faintly—kind, knowing, and uncomfortably serene. "Of course, child. You finally sound like someone ready to ask them."

Her tone was soft, but it carried weight—like she’d been waiting for this moment far longer than I’d been alive.

I took another step closer, the white light bending around her form. "Then answer me."

She inclined her head slightly. "If I can."

I stopped a few feet away. My breath caught. My hands trembled, but I forced the words out anyway.

"Who are you, Grandma?"