The morning was peaceful, almost in contradiction with the chaos of the previous night.
Elizabeth was still asleep, wrapped in the sheets, exhausted. Her breathing was deep and steady, completely surrendered to fatigue.
Lusian watched her silently for a moment before getting up. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face with a gentle, almost reverent touch, then moved away from the bed with slow and careful movements; his wounds burned far more than he would ever admit, even to himself.
The night had been… intense.
Far too intense for someone who had been on the verge of death only a few hours earlier.
And that was precisely why he had not accompanied the heroes to inspect the corpses.
He had had more urgent matters to attend to.
More intimate ones.
And, considering how Elizabeth had ended up… rather demanding ones.
He stepped out of the room into the hallway of the governor's residence. There were still half-asleep guards standing in the corners.
In the main dining hall, he found some low-mana fruit, light bread, and a plate with meat from a mid-level bird. Enough to recover his strength… and more than enough to share with Elizabeth once she woke up.
He was returning through the hallway when he saw him.
A child.
Thin to the point of impossibility.
With sunken cheeks and eyes shining with a mixture of hunger and hope, as if the mere smell of food could give him back a little life.
Lusian stopped.
The child did too.
And in that instant, something inside him —something he thought he had lost along with his past life— reacted before any thought could form.
—Hey… —he said softly—. Come here. You can eat this.
He tore off a piece of meat and offered it to him with the awkward but sincere calm of someone who had once known hunger as well.
The child took one step.
Then another.
His eyes trembled, unable to look away from the food, as if he feared it would disappear if he got too close.
But before he could take it, another figure appeared.
Not like an interruption.
But like someone trying to prevent an accident before it happened.
—Lusian… —Emily's voice was barely above a whisper.
There was no reproach in it.
Only concern.
She knelt beside him without pushing the child away or snatching the food from him abruptly.
—You can't give him that —she explained gently—. Not now. His body is far too weakened.
The child looked at her in confusion.
Emily smiled tenderly and stroked his hair.
—It's alright, little one. You didn't do anything wrong. You just need something softer first, okay? I'll prepare food your body can handle.
The child nodded slowly, still clinging to that mixture of hunger and distrust shared by those who had spent too long surviving.
Emily helped him sit nearby before looking back at Lusian.
And in her eyes, there was something warm.
Something she had carried ever since that day.
The day she thought she would die alongside her mother and all her people while the monster stampede ravaged Carter County.
And then… Lusian appeared.
Ever since that day, Emily had looked at him that way.
—Lusian… —she continued softly—. What you do… this gesture of yours… it isn't wrong. It's never wrong to want to help.
He frowned slightly, confused.
He did not understand why he felt that discomfort in his chest, as if he had failed at something important without realizing it.
Emily noticed immediately.
She stepped a little closer, without invading his space, but close enough for him to feel her presence.
—What you gave people in my territory was different —she explained patiently—. They were low-level creatures. Simple fruits. And besides… I purified the mana before distributing it.
Her lips trembled slightly.
—But these people are worse off. Much worse. Their bodies are exhausted. If they eat something as mana-rich as what you consume… they could die.
Lusian lowered his gaze slowly.
He did not feel guilt.
But he did feel a strange unease.
The uncomfortable sensation of having come dangerously close to hurting someone… while trying to help.
Emily gently shook her head after reading his expression.
—No —she whispered, taking his hand delicately—. Don't think that. You were never a danger. Never.
Her eyes softened even more.
—I saw you, Lusian. I saw how you gave away your own food to people you didn't even know. Without hesitation. Without looking down on them. A noble of your status would never do something like that… and yet you did it again and again.
A small smile appeared on her lips.
Sweet.
Honest.
—You're not cold —she said—. You're just strong. So strong… that sometimes you forget what the world looks like from below.
The child tugged gently at her robe, seeking attention.
Emily immediately stroked his head.
—Come on, little one. I'll prepare something suitable for you.
Then she looked back at Lusian.
And for an instant, the warmth in her eyes mixed with a concern she could not hide.
—And you… please get some rest. I don't want to see you bleeding again.
Emily walked away with the child, leaving behind a faint scent of light and that strange warmth that somehow always lingered in Lusian's chest without permission.
One week.
That was all the Carpathian army needed.
Disciplined like a single organism, the soldiers recovered far faster than Governor Arvian had thought possible.
The heroes had recovered as well.
At least physically.
But their gazes still carried the weight of the corpses they had been forced to identify among the ruins.
Lusian, though still in pain, walked with the same controlled indifference as always.
And Elizabeth…
Elizabeth had fully regained her royal bearing.
The kind that could inspire thousands without ever needing to raise her voice.
The caravan, now considerably smaller —many refugees had chosen to remain in the city— began preparing to depart at dawn.
And as they advanced toward the main gate, something caught everyone's attention.
The plants.
The seeds Elizabeth had distributed were already climbing walls, rooftops, and wooden beams as though they had spent their entire existence waiting for a place like this.
In barely a week, the vines had covered half the district.
And there were already fruits.
Small green and shining sprouts.
Some the size of a bluish fist.
Others still tiny, yet filled with promise.
One of the priests stopped in his tracks, staring at the vines in disbelief.
—Impossible… —he murmured—. They're growing far too fast.
Kara, walking beside Lusian, smiled as she crossed her arms.
—With this much mana floating in the air, any plant capable of absorbing it will multiply uncontrollably. The princess chose well. Before long, this city will never know hunger again.
Emily, a few steps ahead, looked at one of the fruits shining among the leaves.
And remembered.
—That's how it began in the county… —she murmured softly—. We could no longer feed even our own people… but thanks to these plants, everything changed.
Leonardo remained silent.
He merely clenched his teeth and kept walking, unable to ignore the contrast between that hope and the helplessness he still carried for not being able to save everyone.
The citizens were the first to approach.
At first, timidly.
Then running.
Little by little, they lined both sides of the path opened by the caravan. Some bowed. Others cried openly. Many simply stared as though they still could not believe they were alive.
—Thank you!
—The fruit is already growing!
—My children will eat again!
—May the gods protect you!
Elizabeth did not raise her hand.
She did not smile.
She was not a woman of theatrical gestures.
But she lowered her head slightly.
Just a little.
And that tiny gesture alone was enough to provoke emotional murmurs among the crowd.
The princess of an enemy kingdom… bowing to them.
The veterans standing beside Arvian —men who had fought against the Douglas family for years on the battlefield— watched in complete silence.
And for the first time in a very long time, there was no hatred or fear in their faces.
Only respect.
Lusian kept walking without changing his expression.
But he was not indifferent.
He remembered the child in the hallway.
He remembered Emily helping him drink that diluted soup.
He remembered those tiny hands clutching at his sleeve as if letting go meant returning to hunger.
And seeing those plants now… seeing the fruits grow so quickly…
Gave him a feeling he had almost forgotten.
A silent relief.
Serene.
Emily, who walked farther ahead organizing the healers and priests, glanced back at him from the corner of her eye.
Just for a moment.
And she gave him a soft smile.
As if she knew exactly what he was thinking.
Arvian remained leaning against the city wall's railing, watching as the caravan slowly began disappearing into the horizon.
His hands, hardened by years of war and leadership, slowly tightened against the stone.
—I have never seen anything like this… —one of his captains murmured, still unable to believe it—. More than eight thousand survivors… heroes, soldiers, nobles… all marching together. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed it.
—And yet… here we are —Arvian replied in a grave voice—. The city was not looted. The wounded were treated. Not a single life was lost through negligence.
His gaze lowered toward the vines already spreading across the rooftops.
—Even those plants… we never imagined something like this could save us.
One of the veterans, a gray-haired man marked by countless campaigns, let out a tired laugh before slowly shaking his head.
—The Empire and Carpathia spent years slaughtering each other… and now they march together. —He leaned on his spear and released a heavy sigh—. Noble disputes, wars, pride… all of it feels so meaningless compared to this.
—Meaningless… —Arvian repeated.
The last wagons disappeared beyond the hill.
And for a few seconds, the only sound was the wind moving through the newborn leaves.
—What matters now —he continued slowly— is not who will rule which city… nor which hero deserves more glory.
His gaze remained fixed on the horizon.
—The only thing that matters now… is surviving.