With the conclusion of the prince's speech, there was no longer an incentive for Isaac and Evangeline to remain in the banquet.
"Shall we?" Isaac asked, and she nodded.
They stood up. Walked across the hall, under the watch of many just like when they entered the banquet before. The difference was that, unlike before, no one was picking on them.
With no one stopping them, they exited the hall. As the fresh night's air grazed upon him, Isaac felt that the tension has loosened, that he could finally relax to some extent.
Quietly, they moved; no one else was walking in their direction—or more like no one seemed to have left the banquet yet except for them. Evangeline was rolling the wheelchair on her own, albeit slowly. Isaac matched her pace, and the silent walk back to her dormitory was longer than it would have been if he were to walk on his own. Either way, he didn't mind, especially given how his noticeable limp was slowing his pace in the first place.
Isaac… Nameless, Evangeline chanted the name of her banquet partner, by her side at the moment, escorting her back to her dorm as per nobles' courtesy.
She remembered when she encountered another individual with the status of Nameless in the past, when she was far younger. The man was a beggar, barely living through a day by scraping the food waste that wealthy houses discarded.
"Watch, and remember, my dear Evangeline," said her father back then, "that is the fate of a failed noble. The world is cruel, and in order to survive, we must learn its rules."
When her father forced her to take Isaac as partner, she was shocked. Being affiliated with Nameless—the last thing she wanted to become—was something that she could never imagine herself doing. She felt as if her father was saying… that she too was a failure.
"…Do you think," Evangeline briefly came to a stop and muttered, which earned Isaac's attention, "I can awaken a worthy skill in Rite of Manifestation?"
She was staring at the moon that was illuminating the night. Isaac, stopping a couple steps ahead of her, followed her gaze and witnessed the moon.
"A year ago, I was just as desperate as you." Isaac spoke. He appeared thoughtful as he reflected on his past memory. Then, he looked at Evangeline and asked, "why is it that you wish to awaken a worthy skill?"
"…To be worthy." Evangeline's fists tightened.
"Worthy of what?"
"As a noble."
Isaac watched as she pursed her lips and lowered her head. He then whispered, "lies."
She looked up at him, wide-eyed.
"It isn't that you wish to be worthy. Rather, it's that you don't want to be a failure." He chuckled hollowly, "Like me." The chuckle then died. "You're afraid that they will throw you away. That you will end up in the same fate as me."
Her fists loosened. She slumped, as if all strength left her body. "You're right." She admitted, in a weak voice, "you're strong, Isaac. Navigating through this cruel society as Nameless—you are exceptionally strong. I…" She shook her head, "I cannot do the same as you. If I become Nameless…" Her lips quivered, fearful just by imagining such possibility, "I don't know how I will live on."
"…Is that so." Isaac looked back up to the moon. Numerous thoughts went through his head. At one point, being Nameless wasn't as bad as he thought. On the other hand, many nobles belittled him no matter his performance. It was, in his perspective, annoying, but he supposed that to those who value nobility moreso than him, such treatment may be enough to bring them despair.
"That's why… I need a skill of high rank." Evangeline spoke. "At least B—no, even B won't suffice. It needs to be at least A. It needs to be something that can offset my paralyzed legs."
About half of the population ends up with D-rank skills. Evangeline's wish was, statistically, very difficult. However, she had the blood of a lesser noble. Although B- or A-rank may be tough, he assumed that she had a low chance of awakening a skill below D-rank.
"I won't lie. Such future is highly unlikely. Possible, but unlikely. I don't believe that placing your hope in such chance is a good idea. However," Isaac looked Evangeline in the eye—with that of empathy because he went through similar experiences as her, "if you were to awaken a skill of lower rank than of your expectation… I will help you with its operation."
He himself wondered why he was saying that, of why he was adding more to his shoulders. He already had enough matters to deal with. Being affiliated with Evangeline would be a liability rather than an asset.
Yet, he couldn't stop himself from saying such. Above being rational, he wanted to be truthful to himself.
"So, even if you get a skill you weren't hoping for… don't give up."
That was what he wanted to say—that was what he wanted to hear from Valerius Patriarch and Caspian back then.
For a moment, Evangeline said nothing but looked back at him in the eye, unknown as to what she was thinking inside. Then, slowly, her emerald eyes became watery. Tears dropped from them.
"…Thank you." She stated in a shaky tone, quickly wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her expensive-looking dress. "I…"
Isaac breathed out lightly as a smile made its way on his face, although it was the smile filled with fatigue. A lot happened over the course of a week.
"Let's continue moving." He said, and turned to avoid embarrassing Evangeline, whose eyes were puffy and red.
So they moved, under the mana lamps and moonlight that was dim but sufficient enough to show them the way.
It wasn't long before they reached the entrance of her dorm.
With her dormitory plan being that of the Upper stream, which was the tier below Isaac's Core stream that enabled him to live in the Golden Repose, her dormitory building was with less ornamentation, narrower corridors, and modesty of housing reserved for noble students whose families weren't as extraordinary.
Evangeline stopped at the entrance. Turned.
"Thank you," Evangeline said, sincerely. "For tonight. All of it." She paused. "And… I am sorry for all the bad words I threw at you."
Isaac nodded. Waited as a member of the building's staff came to assist her inside.
"Goodnight, Isaac."
"Goodnight."
The door closed. Isaac stood there a moment longer, then turned and began the walk back toward Golden Repose.
The walk alone was peaceful. Notably faster than when he was with Evangeline.
The festival is finally over. Isaac thought, tomorrow, the academy will resume. We will be facing challenges from the elite class, and should we lose, we will be demoted.
Again, life will continue to go on. Forward was the only way, whether he liked it or not.
Then, there is the assault…
"Isaac."
Isaac's thought paused when a voice called upon him. He turned toward the source.
Lyra stood beneath a mana lamp, with her formal attire from the banquet unchanged. She appeared to have been been standing there for quite some time, waiting.
"Lyra." He looked at her flatly. [Clairvoyance]. She saw the specific future of my arrival at this time.
"Walk with me," Lyra said. "We have an unfinished business, don't we?" She turned and walked with an expectation that he would follow, at a pace slow enough such that he could match even with a limp.
He watched her for a moment. Then, began to walk along; she was right. They had an unfinished business.
Lyra stopped in front of the flower stall near the Free Ground's eastern edge, the only one still lit and ongoing in the final night of the festival. Its modest awning was illuminated by a single lantern, and its proprietor was an older woman who sat behind a counter of largely untouched stock.
This wasn't a destination. Isaac glanced at Lyra and understood that she stopped by because she wanted to, and nothing more.
The older woman looked up as they approached, then straightened considerably upon recognizing the second figure's bearing.
"Your Highness," she said, her voice quivering subtly in nervousness.
"I'd like flowers," Lyra said. "ones adequate for mourning."
The woman didn't ask whose. She simply began gathering—white lilies, pale chrysanthemums, and other flowers with the expertise of someone who understood the request didn't need further explanation. What she weaved by the end was an elegant bouquet.
Lyra paid before receiving the bouquet. "They say that white flowers represent a soul's peaceful transition. The color suggests innocence. It is untainted and pure." She observed the arrangement of flowers in the bouquet before nodding at the woman. Gestured at Isaac to resume walking.
"White flowers in the dark are, in contrast, considered an omen. People say that white flowers in the dark represent corruption, the breakage of will." Lyra said as they left the flower stall, solemnly. She looked up, "but tonight is bright and beautiful."
"Is that so." Isaac, inwardly, didn't agree with her. Night was, regardless of moonlight, still dark. It couldn't be compared to giving flowers during the day. You're trying to justify your action, is what he wanted to say, but he couldn't. He too was someone who was following her at the moment. He felt that he was no different, and that speaking such thought would make him none other than hypocrite.
In silence, they walked to the east. Some lights were on and some were off. The street of the capital's Free Ground was silent, although it should've been lively given how it was the final night of the festival.
The explosion affected everyone, be it big or small.
Eventually, their destination appeared in front of them. It was the eastern cemetery, quiet and ominous especially during the night time.
"His name wasn't Henrick," Lyra said, partway through the walk.
Isaac looked at her.
"It was Rick," she said. "I don't know his family name. I don't think he knew it either, by the end."
The night's air felt sharp and cold as the wind blew over them. None of the two reacted to it.
"He was born in the slums," Lyra said as she inspected the bouquet in her hands. "At thirteen years old, he killed a man, who was a shopkeeper. His father was dying of hunger and had nothing left to barter with. Rick begged the man to donate them the food. The man refused. His father died three days later." She paused. "Rick went back and killed him for it."
Isaac said nothing, letting her continue.
"He spent the next three years stealing to survive. Numerous thefts. A wanted boy with no name the authorities could properly attach to a face, in a part of the city the watch rarely bothered patrolling." Her voice carried the specific careful weight of someone reciting what she had heard from another. "At sixteen, his target was my mother."
"The queen," Isaac said.
"She had the skill as me," Lyra said. "[Clairvoyance]. She saw him coming before he ever reached her, saw the theft, saw the desperation underneath it, saw enough of his history to understand exactly what kind of boy he was and exactly what had made him that way." She looked ahead, at the cemetery that was nearer now. "She had him caught. And instead of having him executed, or imprisoned the way the law demanded, she took care of him for a year until he was at the age to be enrolled in the National Academy."
"He awakened [Barrier]," Isaac said.
"He did, and he excelled. Graduated, and eventually became a royal guard." Lyra's voice carried something heavier here. "A hidden one. If it ever became known that the royal family had taken in a convicted murderer and elevated him into their own protective service, the scandal would have shaken the entire Kingdom's confidence in the crown's judgment. Thus, he was given a name. Henrick. A constructed identity, built carefully enough to survive scrutiny."
"He kept it," Isaac muttered. "For how long?"
"Fifteen years of active service. Longer, if you count the Academy years before that." Lyra exhaled. "He held the name so completely, for so long, that by the end I don't believe he thought of himself as Rick anymore. Henrick wasn't a mask. It became him."
Isaac thought of the man in the tunnel, asking if he was a patriot. Of the casual confession that he used to live in slums, had done many bad things. Of the specific quality of someone who'd already made peace with a past he never fully explained, because the person who'd lived it had been quietly retired in favor of someone the Kingdom could actually use.
Then, he thought of the queen, who was known to have passed away due to a disease years ago. He studied Lyra for a moment, wondering if the queen's death truly was by illness. Then, he let it go, for he knew that Lyra won't speak any information in this regard.
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
The eastern cemetery extended further than the light that lamps provided. The rows of markers stretched into darkness Isaac couldn't see the end of.
Lyra led him without hesitation to the third row from the southern wall.
The marker was small. It held no name, but instead held a single carved word beneath the date.
SERVICE.
Lyra knelt. The bouquet of flowers was set carefully across the bare plot.
Lyra stood beside him for a while, saying nothing.
Then, she reached into the folds of her dress and produced a small cloth bag. "This is yours," she said, holding it out.
Isaac took it. Weighed it in his hand. It felt light, but that didn't mean that the amount was lackluster.
"Five gold," she said, "it is enough fortune to sustain one person for the entire life, if spent wisely."
Isaac opened the bag and observed its content. As she indicated, there were five gold coins, the unit of currency which he rarely saw throughout his life—even when he was a member of House Valerius.
"The crown is generous."
"You risked your life. It is what you deserve." Lyra said.
Closing the bag, he pocketed it in his suit. "Then, I will take it." There will be no word of thanks. This was a trade, not a one-sided providence.
Lyra looked at the grave for a long moment. Then, spoke, "many died from that explosion. The current silence is incidental. We are trying to downplay the casualty that the incident generated." She appeared to have a lot in her mind. "Henrick's death is only the beginning. This kingdom...." she stopped. Sighed. Grimacing, she glanced at Isaac, "forget what I just said."
No one was perfect. It seemed that Henrick was closer to the royal family than what he expected, for Lyra to slip and reveal a glimpse of her true thoughts.
"I should go," she spoke, softly in a way that sounded as if she was choosing to leave to give him a privacy. "Don't let yourself worry over what already happened." She turned. "I will see you tomorrow."
"Before you leave, one question, Lyra." Isaac then said as Lyra walked a couple of steps, without turning away from the marker that he was staring at, with his hands pocketed in bloated pockets filled with the bag of gold and iron charm.
"…What may that be?"
"Hollow King."
Lyra flinched at that.
"Just who is he?" He asked, genuinely curious.
Lyra was silent for a moment, as if contemplating whether to tell him or not. Then, she spoke, having concluded that the information wasn't significant enough to be kept private, "He is a middle-aged man at the age of late forties. He remained low for years, hidden from our eyes, working under the surface up until now. The current head of House Serath of Solari Empire, and, according to the academia, a renowned researcher."
Except for the depiction of the man's age, nothing was new to Isaac.
"I see." That's all he said.
He contemplated if he should tell Lyra about Seran Crane. He was, for certain, the one responsible for the explosion in the western quarter.
However, there was no evidence to it. Even if there were to be one, it was destroyed by the explosion.
Furthermore, the royal family wasn't his ally. The operation he's done together with them began due to the attempted assault of the Solari spies, and the gaze that Gladius Aetherion gave him today lacked trust. Isaac suspected that Gladius may be weighing the possibility of him being a spy as well.
In the end, he kept his mouth shut.
"Rest well, Isaac." Lyra spoke. She then left the cemetery, and Isaac was left by himself.
For a while, he stared at the marker, thoughtless. Then, he took out the pouch and reached for the gold coins inside. Out of five, he took out three and set the remainder back into his coat pocket.
"They rewarded me with gold. Conversely, they rewarded you with nothing, simply because you are dead."
It was an idiotic idea, but he didn't want to be rational in this moment. The three gold coins in his hand, he tossed them at Henrick's marker. With metallic clink, the gold coins bounced and landed right in front of the stone, next to the bouquet.
"We collaborated. You suffered more losses, so obviously, you get a larger share."
The marker in front of him could've been his. The thought will haunt him for days.
"Rest in peace, Rick." Dryly, he muttered. He will never understand the man named Rick or Henrick, and neither will he. This was the best he could do, to an acquaintance whom he knew for a week.
He turned and began the long walk back toward the Golden Repose.
The capital's skyline stretched ahead of him in the dark. It was as Lyra said; it was a bright, atypical night.
The festival was over.
The week, finally, had ended.