CH 19 The Shape of Kindness & Freedom Beyond Grace
“Sigh… What a mess,” Accla said, leaning against the window frame as she peered down at the training ground. Beside her, Sayuri crossed her arms, watching silently.
“They’re hopeless,” Sayuri murmured. “Every day, it’s either an argument or fighting.”
“Mm. Kids with mana and tempers,” Accla replied with a half-smirk. “A deadly mix.”
From her tower balcony, Lady Cateleya also watched the scene unfold—the argument, the tears, the loneliness left behind. Yet, unlike the others, she didn’t sigh. She simply smiled softly, her eyes filled with calm understanding before she turned away and left the balcony.
Moments later, Cateleya arrived at the training ground. Thanks to the efforts of Sayuri, Accla, and Valerica, who had been volunteered into helping with manual labor, the reconstruction had gone quickly. The place looked almost new again—smooth tiles, sturdy dummies, and repaired fencing walls.
Isla was still there, her sword slicing through the air in rhythmic precision. The dull clack of wood meeting the training dummy's metal armor echoed with every strike.
“Ahem~” Cateleya’s gentle voice rang out. “May I watch you train, dear?”
“Ah!” Isla froze mid-swing, startled. Then, spotting Cateleya, she dropped her sword without a second thought and dashed forward, wrapping her arms around the older woman.
Cateleya chuckled softly, returning the embrace. Ever since Isla came to live in the citadel, she had treated her as though she were her own daughter. And Isla, in turn, had grown to admire her deeply—so much so that she even dressed similarly.
But while Cateleya’s white robes shimmered faintly with runic gold embroidery, jewels, and enchanted threads, Isla’s were simple and unadorned—plain white, practical, and modest.
“I saw what happened earlier,” Cateleya said softly as she stroked Isla’s hair. “Do you not like Sylveria and Isao?”
Isla’s expression remained mostly stoic, though a faint frown crept across her face. “I don’t like them,” she said flatly. “They always bother my training.”
“Oh my~” Cateleya feigned surprise, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “Then that must mean I’m also a bother, am I?”
Isla’s eyes widened. She immediately shook her head violently, her white hair swishing back and forth like a startled cat.
Cateleya laughed warmly, covering her mouth. “Hehe~ You’re so cute when you panic.”
“I-I didn’t mean you…” Isla muttered, cheeks puffed slightly.
“Mm~ Isla,” Cateleya said, her tone now gentle again, “those two care for you just as I do. They simply have… different ways of showing it. Not everyone knows how to express kindness softly.”
Isla went quiet, her gaze dropping to the ground. She didn’t answer—but she didn’t argue either.
Cateleya smiled knowingly, brushing a bit of dust from Isla’s shoulder. “You’ll understand someday,” she said, turning toward the dummy. “Now, show me what you’ve learned. Let’s see how much stronger my dear Isla has become.”
Isla straightened, picked up her wooden sword again, and nodded firmly. “Yes, Lady Cateleya.”
And as she resumed her training, Cateleya stood nearby—watching not just the strikes, but the gentle growth of a girl who had once known only solitude.
After Isla finished her training, sweat glistening on her forehead, Cateleya approached her with quiet warmth. The soft clatter of the wooden sword against the rack was the only sound between them for a moment.
“I’m not saying you have to like them right away…” Cateleya began gently, her tone calm and motherly. “But it wouldn’t be so bad to have friends your age, don’t you think?” She reached out and patted Isla’s head affectionately.
Isla’s eyes lowered. “But… I love training,” she said softly, almost like a confession.
Cateleya smiled. “And no one’s stopping you, Isla. But remember—having friends doesn’t mean they’ll make you do things you don’t want. True friendship is about being yourself. If they can accept you for who you are, and you can do the same for them… then you’ll have found people you can treasure—and who will treasure you back.”
Her voice softened even more. “Just like me and you.”
Isla froze. Her dull gray eyes slowly brightened, as though a light had been kindled inside them. 'People who will treasure me back…' Those words echoed in her mind.
For as long as she could remember, only Cateleya had ever shown her kindness, warmth, and love. To Isla, she was everything—a teacher, a protector, and most of all, a mother figure. That was why she trained so hard. She didn’t care about wars or evil gods—she only wanted to become strong enough to protect Cateleya.
“Okay… I’ll… try,” Isla said at last, her tone sheepish, cheeks tinged faintly pink, though her face remained as stoic as ever.
Cateleya’s lips curled into a delighted smile. “Hmhm~ That’s my girl. As a reward, how about we get some doughnuts from the kitchen?”
Isla’s eyes instantly widened, all traces of stoicism vanishing. “Really!?”
“Really~” Cateleya giggled.
As the two of them walked off together—Isla practically bouncing beside her—Valerica, who had been painting the far wall, stopped mid-stroke. Her brow twitched as she watched the scene unfold.
“Unbelievable…” she muttered, voice cracking slightly. “I’m the master here, right!? Why is Lady Cateleya the one giving all the advice!?”
She threw her brush down dramatically, nearly in tears, as Cateleya and Isla disappeared around the corner laughing together—leaving the “forgotten master” alone in the training grounds with a half-painted wall.
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In the sky garden of the Citadel, the afternoon breeze carried the scent of blooming lilies as Sylveria stood at the edge of the balcony, gazing at the horizon. The light of the setting sun bathed her blue hair in gold, but her expression was distant—pensive.
She felt awful for snapping at Isao earlier. In truth, she didn’t hate Isao. Yes, she found her irritating for being so talkative, but there was something painfully genuine about her. Isao laughed freely, spoke her mind, and enjoyed the smallest of things—something Sylveria could never bring herself to do.
Unlike Isao, Sylveria had been molded into a flawless princess since birth. Her parents had sculpted her into a masterpiece of grace and intellect—refined speech, perfect posture, impeccable logic. She never resented them for it. In fact, she was proud of her upbringing; she excelled easily in everything she was taught. Yet that same perfection left her unable to understand people like Isao and Isla—people who could find joy in things so… childish and plain.
A wry smile formed on her lips. “How ironic,” she whispered to herself. “Calling something childish when I’m only eight years old myself”
She sighed softly. Isla was stoic and blunt, but at least she acted like a child in her own way—honest, straightforward, simple. Sylveria, on the other hand, felt trapped between being a girl and being a role. 'Perhaps I am the weirdest out of the three of us'
“I knew you’d be here,” said a familiar, calm voice.
Sylveria didn’t need to turn to recognize it. Accla approached quietly, her steps soft against the marble tiles.
“Lady Accla…” Sylveria murmured, her voice low. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a disappointment.”
Accla tilted her head slightly, her expression kind but curious. “A disappointment?”
Sylveria’s fingers tightened against the railing. “Ever since I came here, I feel like I’ve lost control of myself. I used to be calm, logical… perfect.” Her tone quivered slightly with restrained emotion. “But now, I keep getting annoyed. I lashed out at Isla. Then at Isao. I’m acting like—like some emotional little girl.” Her eyes lowered, shimmering faintly. “The perfect princess reduced to a childish fool.”
Accla smiled gently, folding her hands behind her back. “Oh, Sylveria… perhaps that’s not a bad thing.”
Sylveria blinked, confused.
“Perfection may be beautiful,” Accla continued softly, “but it can also be lonely. Maybe what you call ‘imperfection’ is simply you starting to feel—starting to be human.”
Sylveria stared at her for a long moment, her expression softening slightly as the words sank in.
"Yes... maybe you’re right..." Sylveria said softly, a faint smile curving her lips. The tension she’d carried ever since entering the Citadel seemed to melt away, replaced by a quiet understanding. She no longer felt any resentment toward Isla—or anyone. For the first time, she understood herself.
Accla chuckled gently, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I know Isla can be difficult,” she said teasingly, “but will the perfect Ice Princess really give up on her?”
Sylveria blinked in surprise, then laughed—a genuine, lighthearted laugh that felt foreign yet freeing. “Give up? Not a chance.”
Without another word, she turned and dashed away, her blue hair fluttering behind her. For once, she didn’t care about walking gracefully or maintaining poise. She ran like a child, laughing as her shoes tapped against the stone floor.
“I’m not in a castle or a ball anymore!” she shouted over her shoulder, her voice echoing through the corridors. “There’s no need to be so formal and perfect! I’m just Sylveria—the one who will be called the Ice Hero! Just you wait, Lady Accla!”
Accla watched her go, her eyes soft and full of pride. A gentle breeze brushed past her as she whispered with a warm smile,
“You finally understood, Sylveria... that here, in this place, you are free.”
