The Baroness sat beside Owen as the sun dipped low, painting the estate in amber and long shadows.
She sighed, deep, theatrical, the kind that meant she was about to talk for a while.
"You know," she began, folding her hands in her lap, "this place gets insufferably quiet when you're gone."
Owen didn't answer. He just listened.
"I had to deal with the ledgers alone," she continued, clicking her tongue. "The tax dispute with the southern farms? A nightmare. Your father pretends he enjoys that sort of thing, but I know he'd rather wrestle a wyvern barehanded."
A small breath of laughter escaped Owen before he could stop it.
She glanced at him, satisfied, and kept going.
"And then Cedric. Oh, Cedric." She smiled fondly. "Accepted into the Royal Knight Division. Letters every week, all stiff and proper. You'd think he forgot how to be a child the moment they handed him that uniform."
She leaned back, eyes drifting to the sky.
"And you," she added more quietly. "You vanished. For four whole years not a single letter."
Owen's smile faded a little.
"I received word, you know," she said, turning to him now. "About a manaless mercenary in Stoneheaven. Strong. Reliable. A little reckless."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I knew you were alive. So don't think you got away with that."
Owen let out a shaky breath, then an unexpected smile tugged at his lips.
Tears slipped free, tracing down his cheeks, but the smile stayed.
"…You know," he said softly.
Her heart clenched.
And then he started talking.
Not slowly. Not carefully.
It all came out at once.
His voice broke as he spoke of cramped inns and terrible food. Of Brunn eating enough for three men and still complaining. Of Lysa nagging him about posture, about rest, about smiling more.
He laughed while crying, wiping at his face like he was embarrassed by it.
"She used to say I looked scary when I focused," he chuckled weakly. "Said I'd die alone if I didn't loosen up."
The Baroness laughed along with him, gentle and warm, even as her eyes glistened.
Owen talked until the evening deepened, until the stars crept out one by one. Funny stories. Small victories. Stupid arguments that ended in laughter.
For the first time since returning, he felt… human.
After a while, she spoke again.
"Owen," she said softly. "Would you like to know about your parents?"
The air stilled.
He shook his head.
"No," he said, calm. Certain. "Not yet."
She waited, patient.
"Lysa once told me," he continued, voice steadier now, "that some things only reveal themselves when you're ready. Maybe there's a reason I don't know yet."
He looked down at his hands.
"I don't want to force it."
The Baroness smiled, warm and proud.
"Then I'll respect that," she said. "Completely."
They sat in silence for a while.
Then she asked, almost casually, "Are you going to leave again?"
Owen went still.
The smile faded. The weight returned but much lighter than before, but still there.
"…Yeah," he admitted after a moment. "Soon."
Her fingers tightened together, but she didn't interrupt.
"I can't stay like this," he continued. "My mana's out of control. Everywhere I go people look at me like I'm a walking disaster. And this sword..." he glanced at Seishi resting beside him, "it hasn't helped me once when I needed it the most it couldn't help me out. I need to figure out how to rely on myself, I need to Understand myself."
She studied him for a long moment.
Then she laughed.
"You grew up too fast, but let me make this clear, you're not allowed to leave again without telling me," she said firmly. "I don't care if you're fighting gods or chasing monsters. You tell me."
Owen smiled, genuinely this time.
"Loud and clear," he said.
For the first time since everything fell apart, it felt like maybe, just maybe, he wasn't walking forward alone anymore.
-
Owen stayed.
That alone shocked the estate.
For days, he barely spoke. He ate when food was placed in front of him, slept when exhaustion dragged him under, and woke before dawn like his body no longer understood rest. Servants whispered when he passed. Knights stiffened unconsciously, hands drifting toward their hilts as that dense, oppressive presence brushed past them like cold air.
Reinhardt noticed everything.
"You're bleeding mana like a cracked barrel," he said one morning, arms crossed as Owen stood in the training yard. "No control. No rhythm. Just pressure."
Owen nodded. "I know."
Reinhardt snorted. "Good. Means you're not delusional."
Training began the same day.
No swords at first.
No techniques.
Reinhardt dragged him into the woods beyond the estate, far enough that no one could feel Owen's presence pressing on their chests. There, he made him sit.
"Do nothing," Reinhardt said.
Owen stared at him. "That's it?"
"That's it."
Hours passed.
Mana flared, surged, rippled outward like a storm trying to form. Reinhardt smacked him upside the head.
"Idiot. You're forcing it."
Owen clenched his jaw. "Then what am I supposed to do?"
Reinhardt crouched in front of him, unusually serious.
"Stop fighting yourself," he said. "Strength that comes from rage burns fast. Strength that listens lasts."
Days turned into weeks.
The Baron watched from afar, concern etched deep into his face. The Baroness checked on Owen daily, pretending not to worry as much as she did. Cedric's name came up now and then letters arriving from the capital, sealed with royal wax.
Owen didn't ask about him.
But he felt it.
The distance.
Cedric felt it too.
In the Royal Division's training grounds, Cedric paused mid-spar, frowning for no reason he could explain. The air felt… wrong. Like something familiar had slipped just out of reach.
"…Weird," he muttered.
Back in the Barony, Owen finally picked up Seishi again.
The blade no longer hummed. It was still like a chill breeze.
Just… weight.
Reinhardt watched closely.
"Don't resent it," he said scratching his head.
Owen tightened his grip. "It hasn't helped me once. Its an eclipse grade blade, aren't they supposed to be special?"
Reinhardt grinned, sharp and knowing. "Yes they are."
Silence stretched between them.
Then, out of nowhere, Reinhardt clapped a hand on Owen's shoulder.
"Eclipse grade blades have their own wills," he said. "It chose you because it saw something in you. So trust in it."
Owen sighed slowly." Shitty ass sword."
"Well at least you're not leaking anymore," he said as he stood behind him. "Still dense. Still terrifying. But it's… contained."
Owen flexed his fingers. The air around his hand trembled, then stilled.
"…It's quiet," Owen said.
Reinhardt nodded. "Good. Silence is where control lives. Now we can increase training."