On July 13, Medith rose with easy grace.

She slipped into her beloved white dress.

She brushed on powder and a whisper of red.

Her petal-bright face deepened into a mature bloom.

Stepping out of the palace, Talant waited under a tree’s cool shade, long-standing as a shadow.

By her side stood Velledo and a gaunt man; he saw Medith and let out a cackle, shrill as a rusted blade.

Velledo puckered in disgust, then smoothed it away like dust.

Talant wore a professional smile, eyes flat, a lake without ripples.

Medith’s brow tightened; instinct pricked like a thorn.

This had to be Talant—the woman beside Paris that day, gold hair, gold eyes, heroic beauty.

Now Talant stood in a pure-white dress, a mirror to Medith’s aura, like two lilies from the same pond.

In temperament, features, even height and build, the two felt cut from one pattern.

If Talant dyed her hair emerald and showed long pink-tipped ears, she could claim “Medith” without much doubt.

“You must be Princess Talant? First time meeting you—I'm Medith Waheit.”

Medith ignored the two beside her and offered her right hand, clean as a blade.

Talant didn’t change her expression, face smooth as porcelain.

She took the hand and said, with cool shade in her tone, “Pleasure. General, your name travels like wind-carried drums.

Your feats, written as verse, would turn to legends passed for generations.

In less than a year you’ve grown this far; every road rings with tales of you.

Seeing a living legend, my heart feels wistful—caught between joy and awe.”

“Not at all. I’ve long heard your myths; my little record pales next to yours.

I heard you’re Haidra’s teacher. Truth be told, I struggled to picture his master.

Meeting you today, the reputation proves solid.”

The two traded polished praise, hands pumping once, twice, then sharing a knowing smile.

They let go, like performers exiting the stage, and made no further move.

Velledo watched closely, eyes like combs picking through silk, yet found nothing wrong.

They felt like envoys from two states—greeting, pleasantries, then a clean halt.

The gaunt man narrowed his rodent eyes, as if to pierce the veil.

Before he finished, Medith cut in, voice bright as a bell. “Commander Velledo, you look elegant today, dazzling as a festival banner.

Will you take me to admire the Royal Capital’s scenery?”

Velledo’s lips curved, laying out a tempting arc. “Does the General need me to guide her?

You reached the Royal Capital before me; by experience, you should guide me.”

Medith let out a quiet chuckle, a wire hidden in silk. “How could I guide you, on paths worn by your own feet?”

“After all… you’ve lived here more than a dozen years.” Her smile stayed odd, eyes steady as a blade.

Velledo’s beautiful eyes flashed—murder tucked like frost under petals. “His Majesty sent us to check you’re well.

You’re a honored guest. These days are tangled; factions itch to try their luck. Please be careful.”

At that juncture, Talant stepped forward, a wedge in the conversation.

Medith nodded, then her flower-bright face opened like morning. “Even so, could you take me to the armories and training grounds, where steel sings?

I’m the sort who loves tinkering with steel and drills.”

The gaunt man spoke, as if he’d rehearsed it. “General, your rank is exceptional; such requests are natural and fit your character.

But… things aren’t peaceful lately. You’ve likely heard whispers inside the palace.

In this strained time, allow me to refuse you on His Majesty’s behalf.”