The heavy doors of the council chamber closed behind them with a deep, echoing thud that seed to seal away the fate of the condemned woman—and perhaps a piece of Serah’s heart as well. The corridor stretched long and quiet before her, lit by soft sunlight rays shimring through the windows that wavered with each step she and her father took.
For a ti, neither spoke. King Tharion’s hands rested behind his back as he strode forward, his posture regal, and his expression unreadable. Serah followed just a few steps behind, her gaze fixed ahead though her mind swirled with turmoil.
Finally, his voice broke the silence, calm and asured. "Tell , Serah," he said without looking back, "what are your thoughts on what transpired just now?"
The question cut through her like a blade. Her throat tightened, and for a mont, she almost faltered. What could she say? The truth—that the sight of that woman had made her sick with guilt? That she saw her own reflection in the tears of a dood soul? No. She couldn’t say that. Not to him.
So, she swallowed hard, drew a quiet breath, and spoke the words she knew her father wished to hear.
"I believe... it was necessary, Father," she said, her tone steady though each syllable felt like glass in her mouth. "The woman’s actions cannot be ignored. If the people are to understand the seriousness of this law, then an example must be made. Her execution will ensure they know this decree isn’t one to be questioned. It will make them fear the consequence—and that fear will keep them loyal."
She said it all with a perfectly composed face, her voice calm, and her tone precise. But inside, she felt hollow. Hypocritical. Her heart scread at every word she uttered, yet she buried that scream beneath the steel of her discipline.
King Tharion turned to glance at her then, his expression softening into satisfaction. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Good," he said with pride. "It’s reassuring to know that even after all this ti away, you still see the world clearly. I was beginning to think that your year away might have clouded your judgnt with... sentint."
"I haven’t forgotten who I am," Serah replied coolly, her face unreadable.
"Excellent." Tharion smiled, clearly pleased. "Then we are of one mind."
They continued down the hall, the sound of their steps echoing off the tall pillars. Tharion began to speak again, his tone lighter. "The announcent will take place three days from now," he said. "Both kingdoms shall gather in the Solaran plaza. The execution will follow shortly after. I want you by my side that day, Serah. Your presence will affirm our unity before Crescent’s court."
But before he could continue further, his steps slowed. His gaze shifted ahead—and Serah followed it, only to see a tall, familiar figure approaching from the far end of the corridor.
The man’s cape flowed lightly behind him as he strode forward—Caelum Virellan, Grand Marshall of Crescent. His polished armor glead faintly in the sunlight, his golden eyes steady and sharp beneath the shadow of his salt-and-pepper hair.
"Ah," Tharion said, his tone brightening slightly. "The Grand Marshall himself." He looked at his daughter and gave her a faint nod. "We’ll continue this talk later, Serah."
He then turned to greet Caelum with a smile. "Marshall Virellan. It’s been far too long."
"Your Majesty," Caelum said with a respectful bow. "An honor, as always."
The two exchanged a brief clasp of forearms, the show of warriors-turned-kings, before Tharion excused himself, taking his leave down another corridor with a few words of courtesy.
And just like that—Serah was left standing alone with Caelum.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t even have to ask why he was here. She’d lived this mont too many tis before, and every single ti it ended the sa way—with her temper tested and her patience worn thin.
Caelum gave a polite nod, his voice respectful. "Princess Serah," he greeted, his tone smooth yet formal.
Serah sighed quietly and raised a hand. "There’s no need for that," she said, her voice clipped but calm. "As long as I’m wearing this uniform, I’m not a princess. Just another knight. Sa as you."
A flicker of surprise crossed his face before it softened into a faint smile. "As you wish, Lady Serah." He adjusted his posture slightly, adopting a less formal tone. "It’s been quite so ti, hasn’t it? I heard from King Valemir that you’d gone on a self-discovery journey. I must say, I didn’t expect to see you back so soon."
"Yes," Serah replied flatly. "I returned a day ago."
Caelum chuckled lightly. "You’ve changed," he said. "Not in appearance, perhaps, but... there’s a weight in your eyes that wasn’t there before. I’d almost think the journey took more from you than it gave."
Serah didn’t answer. She simply walked beside him as they paced slowly down the hallway. The air between them was thick with polite conversation she didn’t want to have.
Caelum continued nonetheless, speaking with that composed charm that always managed to irritate her. "You know, I had hoped we might speak privately after the eting," he said. "It’s been years since we last had the chance."
"I’m sure it has," Serah replied with little interest. Her tone was courteous enough to not offend, but cold enough to show she didn’t intend to entertain pleasantries for long.
He smiled faintly, clearly aware of her indifference but undeterred. "You’ve always been a difficult woman to approach, Serah. But I suppose that’s what makes you admirable. Your fire—your conviction. It’s what first caught my eye."
Serah stopped walking. She turned to face him fully, her eyes sharp and unwavering. "Let’s not waste ti dancing around what you really ca here for," she said bluntly. "You ca to ask for my hand again, didn’t you?"
Caelum blinked, slightly taken aback by her directness, but he quickly recovered, giving a small nod. "You’re right. I won’t deny it."
"Then let save you the trouble," Serah said firmly. "My answer is still the sa. No. I will not marry you."
The words hung in the air like steel—final, unyielding. She brushed past him, her cape trailing behind her as she strode forward without looking back. "So if you would excuse , I have sowhere to be."
"Wait," Caelum called out, turning to her. "Why?"
She paused mid-step but didn’t turn around.
"What is it that keeps you from accepting ?" he pressed. "What could I possibly lack? Tell what it is that you want—sothing I cannot give."
For a mont, the corridor fell silent.Then after a mont, Serah looked over her shoulder, her eyes cold yet filled with sothing distant—sothing aching.
"Happiness," she said softly. "And freedom."
Caelum’s brow furrowed. "Freedom?" he echoed, genuinely puzzled.
Serah’s gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat longer before she turned away again. "You wouldn’t understand," she murmured under her breath as she walked off, her voice carrying just enough to be heard. "No one in either of these kingdoms would."
Her steps echoed down the corridor as she disappeared around the bend, leaving Caelum standing alone in silence, his expression conflicted and confused.
He stared after her, her final words circling in his mind like a riddle he could not solve. ’Freedom?’ he thought. ’From what?’
And though he didn’t know it, Serah’s answer wasn’t for him—it was for herself. Because in that mont, she realized that happiness and freedom were the very things slipping further from her grasp with every step she took back into the gilded cage of her duty.
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