Chapter 38: Contemplation and Realization
Between the fluttering wings of the paper cranes, the flicker of melting candlewax, and the ever-present scent of parchment and ink, the world seemed to slow.
A soft haze hung in the air, not from fatigue but from the weight of thoughts long carried and never spoken aloud.
Vaelira sat close, her posture still upright, but her gaze had softened.
Her sword was not at her side for once.
The absence made her look almost… unarmored.
She exhaled through her nose, slowly, as if letting go of something tightly held.
“I spoke with Sir Richardson again,” she said quietly, her eyes trained on a crane that hovered just above her fingertips.
Lucien looked at her, attentive but not intrusive.
“Yeah?”
She nodded.
“He stopped me during practice. I- I overshot. Again. Nearly cracked a pillar in half. And myself, too, if I hadn’t pulled at the last second.”
Lucien grimaced.
“Sounds rough.”
“It was.”
Her voice turned brittle.
“But it’s not the failure that’s getting to me.”
She leaned back, letting her head rest against the tall chair back, eyes tracing the path of a crane that circled the candlelight like a moth in prayer.
“It’s why I keep failing that frightens me.”
Lucien said nothing, letting her speak.
“He told me something. That the True Slash isn’t just about mana. It’s about intention. About laying yourself bare, being honest, to your core, about what you feel and why you fight.”
Her hands curled slightly on her lap, knuckles pale.
“But when I stand there with the blade… I don’t know what to be honest about. I don’t know what I’m… hiding from.”
She forced a short laugh.
“Which sounds idiotic, doesn’t it? I know how to fight. I’ve trained since I was a child. I’ve bested opponents older, stronger, more experienced. But this? This one thing won’t yield. And I don’t know why.”
Lucien didn’t laugh.
He didn’t smile either.
He just watched her carefully, quietly, like he was watching someone reveal a crack in armor they’d forgotten was even there.
“Why do you want to learn it so badly?”
He asked softly.
Vaelira blinked.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“I mean, sure, it’s powerful. It’s probably something flashy that would look good on a dueling ground. But really, why? Why that technique? Why does it matter so much to you?”
She opened her mouth.
Paused.
Closed it again.
The air was heavy with the scent of wax and memory.
When she didn’t answer, Lucien smiled gently, and turned the question inward.
“You know… I’ve asked myself the same thing.”
She looked at him, curious.
“Why I’m doing any of this,” he said, gesturing at the mess of notes and the floating storm of cranes.
“I could live comfortably. I could find a quiet corner of the estate, pretend none of this matters, and let people like you and Richardson do all the heavy lifting.”
He chuckled to himself.
“But I can’t. I won’t. Not because I’m some noble idiot trying to save the world… I’m just making up for lost time.”
His voice dipped lower.
“For the time I wasted. For the time I ran away. For the time someone else paid the price I should have.”
Vaelira looked at him, really looked this time.
And he met her gaze, steady and sure.
“That’s why I fight,” he said.
“That’s why I keep going, even when everything feels wrong. Because I owe it, to someone, to myself. Doesn’t matter.”
Then he tilted his head slightly, expression more knowing now.
“But you… you don’t owe anything to this place. The D’Claire estate might be falling apart, sure, but the Aetherveils? You’re still royalty. You’re still safe. You don’t have to be here.”
He leaned closer, not accusing, not demanding, just seeing.
“But here you are. Training like your life depends on it. Fighting like there’s something you have to prove, not just to others… but to yourself.”
Vaelira inhaled sharply.
Lucien’s eyes softened.
“I thought it was just your love for the sword,” he said quietly.
“But now… I think there’s more.”
She didn’t reply.
Didn’t look away.
But she didn’t speak either.
***
The candlelight danced across Lucien’s face as the final crane fluttered past him and folded itself gently onto the table.
The room quieted, save for the low crackle of the wick and the hush of breath between them.
Vaelira broke the silence.
“Lucien,” she said, voice low, almost trembling beneath the surface.
“Do you… consider me a friend?”
Lucien blinked, taken aback for a second by the unexpected weight of the question.
“Yeah,” he said easily.
“I do.”
Vaelira looked down at her feet, a soft, unreadable smile curling at the edge of her lips.
“That was… really easy for you to say.”
Lucien tilted his head, brow furrowing.
“I thought there’d be more… consideration involved,” she added, quieter now.
Lucien leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving her.
“I mean it. I’ve thought of us as friends for a while now. And nothing I’ve seen or felt gave me any reason to doubt that.”
She chuckled at that, but it was a brittle sound, like porcelain on the verge of a crack.
“Only if the world were as simple as you, Lucien.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but her gaze drifted toward the floor again, and she kept going.
“You know the Aetherveil household is a political nightmare, right?”
Her voice had turned distant, almost bitter.
“Inheritance, power, control, every interaction is calculated, every smile a transaction. We were trained to see people not as people… but as assets. As leverage.”
Lucien stayed silent, listening.
“Even when I was a child, they made me memorize names and bloodlines. ‘You must greet Lady Serentha’s daughter with grace. She might marry into the Meracians.’ ‘Don’t speak to the Varnell boy. His father offended the Count Regent.’ And when I did make friends, real friends, I was told to stop seeing them because their families had fallen from favor. Because they were no longer useful.”
Her hands curled tightly in her lap, fingers white.
“My father… he said something to me once. Said it like it was some eternal law of the world.”
She looked up, her eyes glassy but not yet broken.
“He said, ‘You must have the power to stand tall, or you’ll be turned into a pawn for someone who does.’ That was the lesson. That’s always been the lesson.”
Her jaw tightened.
“My life’s never been in danger, not in the way people think. But my existence? That’s always been on the line. One slip. One wrong step. One sign of softness… and everything I am could be dismantled. Mocked. Used.”
She looked at him again, and there was something raw in her voice now.
Something unshielded.
“So how?” she asked.
“How do you do it?”
Lucien blinked.
“Do what?”
“Say something like that, that you consider me a friend, with no hesitation.”
Her voice cracked then, a note of desperation bleeding through.
“How do you know I won’t betray you the moment it’s convenient for me? How can you trust me, just like that?”
Lucien was quiet for a moment.
Then he smiled, not out of amusement, but something softer, something steady.
“I could ask you the same question.”
Vaelira’s eyes widened slightly.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
“Why do you trust me? Why do you talk to me like this, like you’re not performing, not measuring your words? You’re one of the most guarded people I’ve ever met, but when you’re with me… it’s different.”
Vaelira opened her mouth, but no words came out.
“I’m not a political ally. I’m not powerful. I’m not from a noble house. Hell, I’m barely useful most of the time.”
He chuckled lightly, with no bitterness in it.
“So why do you let your guard down around me?”
Vaelira’s lips parted, her throat tightening.
“I… I don’t know,” she said honestly.
The flickering candlelight caught the shimmer in her eyes.
“I know you won’t betray me,” she whispered.
“But I don’t know why I know that.”
Lucien didn’t push her further.
He didn’t have to.
In the stillness of the library, between the scent of ink and melted wax, they sat in the space between questions and answers, two people who had been alone in their own ways, now slowly learning how to not be.
***
Lucien reached out across the candlelit distance between them and gently took Vaelira’s hand in his own.
“How about we take a walk?”
He said softly, offering her a lopsided smile.
“These flying nuisances”, he gestured vaguely at the dozens of drifting paper cranes still lazily orbiting the room, “aren’t going anywhere for a while. A bit of fresh air might do us both some good.”
Vaelira didn’t say a word.
But she didn’t resist either.
She allowed him to lead her out of the library and into the stillness of the courtyard.
The moment they stepped outside, the night met them with its quiet, soothing embrace.
The moon hung full and radiant above, casting a pale silver glow across the stone paths and trimmed hedges, the air cool and almost tender on their skin.
Their steps were slow, unhurried.
For once, they weren’t warriors or heirs, just two silhouettes moving through moonlight.
Lucien exhaled a long breath.
“You know,” he began, glancing sideways at her, “overthinking is just as bad, if not worse, than underthinking.”
Vaelira narrowed her eyes but said nothing.
“I mean,” he continued, hands casually behind his head, “not being able to pull off one technique and you’ve turned into some introspective philosopher with a death wish.”
He chuckled.
And then promptly doubled over with a pained grunt when Vaelira jabbed an elbow into his side.
“Mock me again and I’ll show you introspection, with a blade,” she said, smirking.
Lucien wheezed.
“Gods, for once you open up and I try to lighten the mood and this is what I get?”
She gave him a sideways glance, the edge of her mouth tugging up, ever so slightly.
He straightened, rubbing his ribs.
“Look, what I meant was… yeah, you clearly have some issues-” he gestured vaguely at her like a wizard trying to describe the shape of a ghost, “-but instead of dissecting them all at once, I usually just focus on what’s in front of me.”
“Like what?”
She asked, raising a brow.
“Like… not dying.”
Her eyes widened.
He immediately waved his hands.
“Wait! I mean- not letting the estate die! The estate! Not me. I’m doing fine. Ish.”
Vaelira gave him an unconvinced look.
“And,” he added quickly, “making sure I can afford tuition for the Academy.”
She blinked.
“The Academy?”
“Yeah,” he said, as if it were obvious.
“You know. Your Academy. Twilight Crown.”
Vaelira stopped walking.
She turned to face him, expression serious now.
“You’re aiming for Twilight Crown Academy?”
“Well, yeah,” he said, shrugging.
“Kind of a goal, right? I figured we’d both be going. Would be weird if you were off dueling nobles and getting top scores while I was just-” he flailed slightly, “-counting apples.”
There was a long pause.
Then Vaelira stepped closer, her tone suddenly sharp and very alarmed.
“Lucien. You do know you have to pass an entrance exam to even apply, right?”
Lucien stared at her, expression slowly falling apart like a crumbling sandcastle.
“The… what now?”
His voice cracked on the last word.
Vaelira’s eyes widened further.
“You’re joking.”
“I... there’s an exam?! No one told me there was an exam! I thought you just… applied and they looked at your character or something!”
Vaelira covered her mouth with one hand, but the laugh still escaped, light, genuine, startled.
“You’re unbelievable,” she said between giggles.
Lucien’s jaw slackened further.
“I was just trying to build a nice apple empire first! I didn’t know I had to fight for my life on paper!”
He looked so genuinely betrayed by the world that Vaelira couldn’t help but laugh again, clearer this time, echoing into the night air.
Lucien groaned.
She snorted.
“You’re an idiot.”
“But a charming one,” he added, nudging her back.
She didn’t deny it.
As they continued their walk, the tension that had bound her shoulders began to ease, loosening with every quiet step beside him.
The silver glow of the moon reflected in her eyes, but it was the boy beside her that anchored her to the moment, awkward, honest, and utterly unprepared.
And for the first time in a long time, Vaelira wasn’t alone in her chaos.
***
