At the ntion of that day, the past rose within Sheila with startling clarity. The mory did not co gently—it returned in fragnts of color and sound, of bright banners and proud smiles, of servants whispering excitedly in the corridors of the palace. She could almost feel the warmth of the ceremonial hall again, the way myst had shimred in the air when her affinities awakened before the court.
That day had not been the mont everything changed.
But it had been the beginning of what would.
"That day might have been the happiest of your life," Percy said quietly. "It was one of mine too, if I’m being honest. Father and Mother were overjoyed. The entire court celebrated. A child of royal blood had awakened all three primary affinities of the Crescent Kingdom. It had been a long ti since that happened."
His voice carried no bitterness—only recollection.
As he spoke, Sheila saw it again in her mind: the astonished faces of nobles, the pride in her mother’s eyes, the firm approval in their father’s stance. She rembered clutching Percy’s hand tightly, not fully understanding what it all ant, only knowing that everyone seed happy.
"Though I was happy you awakened those affinities," Percy continued evenly, "I was happier for another reason."
He paused briefly.
"I was relieved that you wouldn’t experience what I did when I first awakened."
Sheila’s brows drew together faintly.
’What does he an?’
"When I was five," Percy said, his tone steady, "Father and Mother hoped I would awaken all three affinities as well. They were certain of it. The heir to the Crescent Kingdom, blessed with the kingdom’s full elental legacy." He exhaled faintly. "But I didn’t."
His gaze remained forward.
"I awakened only one."
The night air seed to grow heavier.
"And that," he added calmly, "wasn’t what they wanted."
Sheila felt sothing tighten in her chest.
"The disappointnt wasn’t loud," Percy continued. "There were no screams. No public humiliation. Just... absence." His voice remained level, almost analytical. "The affection they once showed faded. Their attention shifted elsewhere. I beca... secondary."
He did not sound resentful. That, sohow, made it worse.
"All the love and care they had poured into before that day—" he went on, "—disappeared. When you awakened years later, it all flowed toward you instead."
Sheila’s breathing grew shallow.
"But it never angered ," Percy added. "Not then. In my mind, I had failed them. I was their son, their heir, and I hadn’t t expectations. It felt logical that they would focus their hopes on you instead."
He spoke as though explaining a simple truth.
"So when you awakened," he continued, "I was genuinely happy. Because I believed you would never have to feel that sa withdrawal. Their love for you would remain constant. They would nurture you, protect you, invest everything in you. And you deserved that." He paused. "I was also relieved for them. They wouldn’t have to endure disappointnt again."
Sheila listened in silence, absorbing every word carefully, almost painfully.
"I rember how close we were," Percy said after a mont. "Before your awakening. Even after it. You never wanted to leave my side." A faint softness touched his tone, subtle but real. "And I didn’t want you to either. You were the only one who still treated the sa."
He hesitated briefly.
"Other than Sir Wellington and his son."
The mory lingered between them before he continued.
"But things began to change when I approached ten," Percy said. "That was when Father decided it was ti for you to begin formal training. That’s when Mage Borges entered the picture."
He glanced slightly over his shoulder.
At the na, Sheila’s body stiffened almost imperceptibly. The image of her first tutor flashed in her mind—his calm deanor, his patient guidance... and then the betrayal. The revelation that he had aligned himself with the Gaia demon lord, Sylvathar. The abduction. The fear.
Percy, seemingly unaware of the storm that na invoked within her, continued.
"The decision to distance myself from you wasn’t entirely my own," he admitted. "Father and Mother spoke to directly. They explained that once your tutelage began, my presence might beco a distraction. A hindrance."
His lips curved faintly—not quite a smile.
"They told they wanted what was best for you. And that I, of all people, would understand."
Sheila’s eyes widened slightly as she processed that.
"They said your training required complete focus," Percy went on. "And that with only a single affinity, I had nothing aningful to contribute to your developnt. They asked to step aside. For your sake."
The words settled heavily.
"Being young," Percy continued calmly, "and foolish enough to believe I was acting selflessly, I agreed."
He exhaled quietly.
"It wasn’t entirely difficult. I had enrolled in a foundation school shortly afterward. That gave an excuse—a structure to pour myself into. It helped occupy my ti. Helped create distance."
He paused again, glancing toward her from the corner of his eye.
"Even so, it wasn’t easy. You insisted on finding . You would slip away from lessons. Wander through halls. Ask servants where I was. You made it your mission to stay near ."
A faint, almost imperceptible softness lingered in his tone.
"And that," he added, "made distancing myself far more complicated than I had anticipated."
Sheila finally lifted her head fully, no longer stealing timid glances but truly looking at her brother’s back as he spoke. As his words settled within her, sothing long buried began to shift. For years she had convinced herself that Percy resented her—that he despised her existence, that her awakening had driven a wedge between them that could never be repaired.
But listening now, beneath the calm steadiness of his voice, she realized sothing she had never allowed herself to consider.
He had never hated her.
If anything, he had stepped away because he believed it was protecting her.
The realization did not bring imdiate comfort. Instead, it left her unsettled. Because even if his intentions had been good, she still could not fully understand the reasoning behind them. How could pushing her away possibly have been the right choice? How could silence have been protection?
Still, she did not interrupt.
She clenched her hands lightly at her sides and forced herself to remain patient. She would let him finish. She would hear everything before she judged him.
"Though it was difficult," Percy said quietly, "I managed to maintain my distance during my five years at foundation school."
His tone held no pride in that statent—only acknowledgnt.
"You were diligent," he continued. "You trained without complaint. You surpassed expectation after expectation. Every report that reached the outer wings of the palace spoke of your discipline, your talent, your rapid growth." He paused faintly. "The court praised you endlessly."
Sheila could almost hear the echo of those praises in her mory—the applause, the approving nods, the ceremonial comndations.
"And they were pleased," Percy added.
"And you?" she asked before she could stop herself.
The question slipped out softly, fragile yet direct.
Percy did not turn.
His gaze remained fixed on the stretch of moonlit sky above the garden.
"I was pleased," he answered evenly. "But I was also observant."
The word lingered between them, heavier than it should have been.
"During the first two years of those five," he went on, "I believed wholeheartedly in what Father told . That your training required isolation. That my presence would distract you. That distancing myself was an act of support."
A quiet breath escaped him.
"But distance," he added, "has a way of sharpening one’s vision."
He shifted slightly, enough for Sheila to see the faint edge of his profile in the moonlight.
"I began to notice things," Percy said. "Many things."
His voice did not harden, but sothing within it deepened.
"When you succeeded, they celebrated your affinities. When you mastered a new technique, they praised the legacy of our bloodline. When you endured grueling sessions without rest, they comnded your strength and discipline." He paused briefly. "But when you were exhausted... when your hands trembled after practice... when you struggled to keep your eyes open during court gatherings... when you simply wanted to run through the gardens like any other child..."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"They did not see it."
Sheila swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
"They saw potential," Percy continued steadily. "They saw power. They saw the restoration of prestige. They saw the three primary affinities of the Crescent Kingdom united again beneath the royal crest." His voice remained composed, but a faint thread of restrained anger wove through it. "But they did not always see you."
The wind stirred through the hedges, rustling leaves softly. Sowhere beyond the courtyard, a distant bell chid the late hour, its sound hollow and solemn.
"They cared," Percy added after a mont. "Do not misunderstand . They did care for you. But their care was... entangled. Braided too tightly with expectation. It beca difficult to separate affection from ambition."
Sheila’s chest felt tight.
"Every achievent strengthened the kingdom," Percy went on. "Every advancent reinforced their vision for the future. And slowly, I began to understand sothing I had not grasped when I first agreed to step aside."
His eyes lowered from the sky at last.
"They were not simply raising a daughter."
The pause that followed was heavier than any before it.
"They were refining an asset," he said quietly.
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