The Vaelthorn estate was a storm of noise and movement when Reinhardt stepped through its gates. Shouts of orders mixed with the groans of the wounded; the bitter smell of medicine clung to the cold air. Yet his eyes softened with a flicker of relief as he saw fewer of his soldiers lying helpless than he had feared. Most had already received some form of treatment.
Albert, the officer he had placed in charge of the rear, rushed forward to greet him. His armor was dented and his expression tired but relieved.
"Your Highness," Albert said, bowing quickly. "The potions you sent… they weren't enough for everyone, but they reduced the worst injuries. You saved many lives."
Around them, men raised their heads from makeshift cots, murmuring thanks. Some even tried to salute from their beds. For the first time in days, a faint, weary smile tugged at Reinhardt's lips.
"That's good to hear," he replied quietly, reaching into the bag slung over his shoulder. He handed Albert several tightly sealed vials and packets marked with runes. "Here. Distribute these to the ones still in need. Potions and blood packs — they should cover the worst cases."
Albert's eyes widened as he accepted the supplies. "This will make a difference, Your Highness."
Lucy, standing a step behind Reinhardt, watched him in silence. She was stunned to see the usually cold prince looking almost gentle, almost at ease, as he addressed the wounded. Without thinking, she moved to help, following Albert to hand out vials to the soldiers, her fingers trembling slightly. She still couldn't quite believe she was here — away from Stanford, standing beside the man who had saved her family years ago.
A familiar voice cut through the noise. "So it's true."
Reinhardt turned. Iris stood at the doorway of the inner hall, her cloak dusted with snow, staff in hand. She came closer, her sharp gaze sliding past him to the tall figure behind — Jaesper, hood shadowing his face.
"You even brought the notorious half-elf with you," she said dryly.
Reinhardt didn't bother to respond. Jaesper inclined his head stiffly. "Jaesper Greyls," he said, his tone formal but clipped.
"Iris Chesly," she replied, inclining her head slightly in return. "Mage of the Hero Campaign. The pleasure's mine — or so I hope."
Reinhardt stepped forward, his voice low but urgent. "Where is Kael?"
At that name, Iris's expression hardened. "In the west wing. For now, I've been sharing my own blood with him to keep him stable. But his fever…" She trailed off, her hand tightening on her staff. "Sometimes it rises so high he can barely breathe. He's coughing blood again."
Reinhardt's jaw tightened. "Take me to him."
Iris nodded without another word. She turned, leading them down a long corridor lined with tapestries of Vaelthorn's victories. The air grew quieter the further they went, until the only sounds were the muffled groans of the injured in adjacent rooms and the crunch of Reinhardt's boots on the carpet.
They stopped at a heavy oak door. Iris pushed it open, and the faint scent of blood and fever washed out to meet them.
Inside, Kael lay on a large bed, pale as frost, his once-strong frame now thin and trembling even in sleep. Blood stained his lips, his hair clung damply to his forehead, and the pillow beneath his head bore dark patches from repeated coughing fits.
Robert sat beside him, eyes shadowed with exhaustion, holding a damp cloth to Kael's brow. When he looked up and saw Reinhardt, surprise flickered across his face, followed by visible relief.
"Brother…" he whispered, almost too softly to hear.
Reinhardt's steps quickened despite himself. He crossed the room in two strides, coming to Kael's bedside. His heart felt as though it clenched in his chest as he took in the sight before him — the hero who had once seemed unstoppable, now so fragile he barely seemed to belong to the same world.
Jaesper moved quietly behind him, his healer's gaze already scanning Kael's body. Without needing instruction, he began pulling out vials and rune-marked tools from his satchel.
Reinhardt reached out but stopped just short of touching Kael's hand. "Hold on," he murmured under his breath, his voice so low only Robert could hear. "I'm here now."
Robert swallowed hard, lowering his eyes. "We've done what we can," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "But without help from the palace, without proper supplies…"
Reinhardt finally turned to him, his face unreadable but his eyes dark. "You did well," he said quietly. "Now let me handle the rest."
Robert gave a faint nod, relief and worry mingling on his face as Jaesper began his work.
Jaesper moved methodically, his hands glowing faintly as he examined every inch of Kael's frail body at Reinhardt's command. His brow furrowed deeper with each passing second. He pressed his fingers to Kael's wrist, feeling for a pulse. What he found made his jaw tighten.
Reinhardt stood rigid at the bedside, his eyes locked on Jaesper. "How bad is it?"
Jaesper didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned sharply to Robert and Iris. "Did either of you use healing magic on him?" His voice was calm but carried an edge of urgency.
Robert and Iris exchanged a glance before Iris spoke, her tone defensive. "Of course. It was the first thing we did when he was brought here. He was bleeding, feverish, barely conscious — healing was our only option."
Reinhardt tilted his head slightly, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "Isn't that the right thing to do?"
Jaesper gave a slow, measured nod. "Normally, yes. In almost every situation, it's exactly what you should do. But…" He let his words trail off, his gaze sliding back to Kael. "…This is different."
"What do you mean?" Robert demanded, his knuckles white on the arm of the chair.
Jaesper placed a hand gently against Kael's chest, closing his eyes. The air around his fingers shimmered faintly with silver light. "His mana core is shattered," he said at last, his voice low. "I can feel his mana leaking away with every breath he takes."
Iris's eyes widened, disbelief flickering across her face. "That's impossible. If his mana core was shattered, I would have sensed it immediately."
"It's not that you didn't notice," Jaesper replied without opening his eyes. "It's that there's almost nothing left to notice. The core has been reduced to fragments so small they're practically invisible. Even your mage-sight couldn't catch it."
The room fell into stunned silence. Robert stared at Jaesper, then at Kael, his face paling. Reinhardt's hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"Then what can we do?" he asked, his voice low but trembling with restrained urgency. "Tell me how to stop this. I will not let the world's saviour die like this."
Jaesper opened his eyes at last and looked straight at Reinhardt. "I can repair it," he said carefully. "I can piece the core back together." He hesitated, then added, "…But there is a price."
Reinhardt's stomach dropped. "What price?"
Jaesper's expression didn't change. "He may never wake up again."
The words struck like a blade through the room. Robert inhaled sharply, almost choking on his own breath. Reinhardt's lips parted, but no sound came.
"I brought you here to save him," Reinhardt said at last, his voice a whisper, his eyes dark. "Not to condemn him to another kind of death."
"There is no other way," Jaesper said quietly. "If we do nothing, his body will fail. If we mend the core, he might live — but his consciousness may not return."
Robert stumbled back a step, then dropped to his knees, his hands trembling. "There must be something else…" he muttered, his voice cracking. "Anything…"
Jaesper shook his head once, firmly. "There isn't."
Reinhardt pressed a hand to his face, his fingers dragging down over his eyes as though trying to shield himself from the weight of Jaesper's words. Sadness, raw and unguarded, flickered across his features.
A wet, rattling cough snapped them out of their paralysis. Kael's body convulsed weakly, blood bubbling at his lips.
"Kael—!" Reinhardt moved instantly, snatching a towel from the nightstand and pressing it to Kael's mouth, wiping the blood away with trembling hands. He hated this — hated seeing Kael enduring a pain that should never have been his.
Jaesper's voice was grim. "Based on his condition, even with blood packs and healing spells, nothing will change. Not without repairing the core." He lowered his head, bowing slightly. "I'm sorry, Your Highness."
For a long, terrible minute, Reinhardt said nothing. The world felt as though it had narrowed to the weight of Kael's cold hand on his own. He gripped it tightly, his thumb brushing over the scarred knuckles. His lips moved, but no sound escaped — a silent plea to whatever gods still watched.
In that stillness, the snow outside the window kept falling, white and unending.
-----------------------------------------
Word of Prince Reinhardt's return spread through the estate like wildfire. The servants whispered and hurried down the halls, the guards straightened at their posts. Duke Elric, upon hearing the news, felt her heart skip. Robert had told her Reinhardt had gone back to the palace to request reinforcements and aid. If he was here now, perhaps—perhaps he had succeeded.
She rose from her desk and swept out of her study, skirts brushing the cold stone floor as she walked quickly through the corridors toward the guest wing.
In the waiting room, Reinhardt sat slumped in a wooden chair, his elbows on his knees, his fingers pressed to his brow. His face — normally composed and unreadable — looked drawn and hollow, his eyes shadowed with despair.
Elric slowed her steps and composed herself before entering. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Prince Reinhardt," she said softly, bowing low.
Reinhardt raised his head, his green eyes dull with exhaustion. "First… drop the formality," he said, his voice low but firm. "And thank you. Thank you for taking care of my soldiers." He gestured faintly to the chair opposite him. "Please. Sit."
Elric settled across from him, folding her hands neatly in her lap. For a moment she studied him — the boy who had been thrust into war at twelve, now a man who bore the weight of an empire's wounds.
"Did you succeed?" she asked at last. "Did His Majesty grant you the reinforcements?"
Reinhardt exhaled sharply and shook his head. "That old man didn't even care, Elric," he said bitterly. "He wants to wage another war, to conquer another land." His tone cracked with disappointment and disgust.
Elric's brows knitted. "We only just ended the demon war," she said. "Waging another war would cost money, soldiers, lives. My own lands are only now beginning to recover from the raids. Even though the north gate lies far from the Demon Realm, the demon army is still pressed against our borders. We lost much to keep them at bay."
Reinhardt dragged a hand down his face, his thumb rubbing absently at the dark circle beneath his eye. "The western and eastern gates were hit the hardest," he murmured, his voice weary. "Kael managed to save them from the brunt of the demon army, but the land… the land still bleeds."
Elric looked at him and felt a pang of pity. He had been a boy — only twelve — when he first rode into battle. And yet his father had never once acknowledged his sacrifice, only demanded more.
"You came here for aid then," she said gently. "You've brought someone with you?"
Reinhardt's eyes lifted to hers. "Viscount Jaesper," he answered simply.
Elric blinked, her breath catching for a heartbeat. "You mean… the rumored half-elf?" Her eyes brightened, a glimmer of hope breaking through her composed expression. "Then Lord Kael is going to be all right," she said, a small, relieved smile spreading across her face.
But the smile faltered and died when she caught the tension in Reinhardt's jaw, the way his hands curled into fists. His eyes dropped to the floor.
"I… don't know," he admitted quietly.
The words hung heavy between them. Elric's heart sank. She saw, in that moment, not a prince but a man haunted by the words of a healer: He may never wake again.
Reinhardt's gaze fixed on the floorboards, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I brought Jaesper here to save him. But now… all I can do is wait."
For a moment neither spoke, the muffled sounds of the busy estate fading into silence around them. Elric clasped her hands tighter in her lap, the weight of Reinhardt's despair settling like ice over her heart.
Outside, the northern winds rattled against the windows, carrying the scent of snow and the echo of a war that had ended — but had never truly left any of them.