Abigail, with dark circles pooling like bruised moons, peeled an apple.

After three days wound tight without sleep, he didn’t even want to yawn; he didn’t want to sleep either, only sagged like a slack sail.

On the bed, the patient blinked awake, fog lifting from a dim shore.

“Awake?” Abigail looked up once, voice flat as still water.

“Yeah. Awake.”

Andor opened his eyes and smiled at Abigail, a bitter smile thin as winter sun.

Abigail met those exhausted eyes and couldn’t help a small shake of the head, like a leaf refusing the wind.

“It’s been three days since Stini found you.”

“Where is she?”

“Don’t cut in. Listen. She ran into Maki right after, and the two of them… had a huge fight.” His knife and apple kept moving; at “huge fight” the blade paused like a held breath. “Then Stini, swinging her sword and roaring like a storm, half-carried you to the Sanctuary of Life.”

“I hear something under your words. Did they really only ‘have a fight’?”

The Hero’s voice was so steady it didn’t belong to a man just waking from wounds; it soothed the room like a lamp in rain.

That keen bastard heard it, as always—he heard the seam under the fabric.

Abigail shook his head again, didn’t answer, and went on. “She stood guard outside the door like a rabid hound, hair loose like tangled grass, letting no one near. Only Elina, the Divine Healer, came in to use Divine Art on you. Miss Vega and Raven tended you. I watched the window like a stone lion, same as Stini, letting no one near for three days and nights.”

“I’m guessing plenty of Heretic Inquisitors, social luminaries, and power-brokers came to ‘visit the great Hero Andor.’ Or to press Stini to hand the ‘heretic Andor’ back to the Heretic Inquisition.”

“…When Elina declared your wounds were fully healed, that rest would keep your sword form untouched, that you were still a Hero who could take on a thousand, Raven fainted on the spot like a cut flower. Miss Vega turned to tend the fallen Raven. Elina returned to the Great Temple, because you know the Heretic Inquisition is tied closely to the gods; as a representative of the temple, she can’t clash head-on with them. Stini finally exhaled and sprinted out to hunt the Heart-Devourer that’s been stirring up the city like hornets.”

“Are you done?”

“One more line. I came in to look after Raven too, and to peel you an apple. All right, that’s your time asleep. Ask away. Anything you want to know?”

Andor didn’t move much. With the same tired eyes and bitter smile, he glanced past Abigail at Vega and Raven, both asleep on another bed like kittens in sun. “...No. Nothing.”

Abigail’s brows knotted; the apple and knife halted again, edge hovering like a swallow mid-flight.

“Really nothing you want to ask? About the peace conference. About the Heart-Devourer. About where the wind’s blowing for you now. Ask, Andor.”

“I really don’t want to know.”

“…”

“I’m a bit… tired.”

“…”

On a normal day, Abigail would’ve grabbed his head and rammed it into the wall like a hammer, let him breathe dust and blood, and maybe he’d come back to himself.

He admired Andor’s resolve and his chosen image, that steady self-confidence—even if it was a mask—rather than this slumped, timid figure like a wet banner.

Abigail was angry, but he was tired too; he’d guarded this bastard three days, and shooed off who knows how many Heretic Inquisitors like crows. His fuel was ash. He only frowned, eyes unfocused on knife and fruit.

In the pure-white room, the quiet felt unreal, like snow on a sealed lake. Only the even breaths of the two sleeping girls, and the soft rasp of blade through flesh, threaded the air.

Abigail spoke like talking to himself, his words drifting like smoke. “Do you know why Stini stood at the door?”

“So Elina could work her Divine Art in peace and heal me.”

“That’s one reason… Then do you know why Stini ran the moment she heard you were out of danger?”

“Because that Heart-Devourer threatens people’s lives, and her instinct for justice drove her out like a river breaking a dam.”

“It’s all—every bit of it—because of you, Andor. Stini doesn’t want to see you.”

“Why… forget it. I know.”

“Right, you know. But I have to say it. She doesn’t want to see you like this, or she’ll lose control and carve a road of blood straight into the Heretic Inquisition’s headquarters. It’s the same for me. I gave Raven—my love—into the care of a great Hero who can protect her no matter what. Even if his means are dark, even if his ending is ragged, he steps up, arrogant and brave, charges, swings, keeps his strength held high above the mud, and marches on singing.”

His voice didn’t swell as it should; drained, it fell like rain.

The ribbon of apple skin, long as a snake, finally snapped in his hand.

Abigail forced his trembling hand steady, drew a deep breath like drawing cool water, and let it go.

“Yeah. Andor’s always like that—like a villain and a hero both, like a sage and a fool. He’s the one who most looks like the main character, standing center stage in blinding light, playing the crucial part. I can’t beat him. Not in war, not in love.”

“…”

“Right now I feel I could beat you, could take what you took. But that victory tastes like sawdust. Get up, Andor. Scheme me with your clever head. Lying there does nothing. Raven’s about to be stolen by me. Get up.” He peeled the apple, pouring all focus into the fruit so he didn’t pour it into anger at the Hero.

“…Yet I’m still just a mortal.”

“I know.”

“…”

“I know you have the right to say ‘I’m tired,’ ‘I want rest,’ ‘I can’t go on.’ I get it. I know what you did for Stini and Raven. You’re owed that. But… it’s not what I want to hear!”

Abigail’s bleary gaze met Andor’s weary one, two dull stars that couldn’t trade light.

“…I’m tired. I want to rest.”

“Andor!”

Abigail tried to roar, but even his roar was only a low call, like thunder muffled by distance.

“Tell me it’s all your plan. Tell me you meant to win sympathy this way. That the torture and the blame were in the script. That even playing the villain, you still saved Raven.”

“…This is my plan.”

Andor turned his back, voice as low as a night tide.

“Say you laid it all out beforehand.”

“…I laid it all out.”

“Say you’re lying to smooth-talk me. That it was all for Raven, for Stini, for everyone.”

“…I’m lying to you.”

“Say it. Jump off the bed. Mock my loss of composure and my raccoon eyes. Laugh that our sleepless days were pointless. That the ever-calculating Andor already fixed everything. That we did busywork.”

Abigail’s voice caught, like a reed in wind. “Andor, where’s that teasing tone? I want that Andor. Bring him out, damn it.”

Only this time, Andor didn’t play along.

He only said, “...Sorry, Abigail. I’m already tired.”

Vega and Raven slept on, sweet as summer berries. Abigail glanced back with a trace of guilt, then kept the blade moving, the peel falling like curled petals.

The two awake ones sank into a long silence, wide as a dry riverbed.

“Andor, I apologize.”

“There’s nothing you need to apologize for.”

“Sorry.”

“I said there’s no need.”

“I can’t keep expecting others to charge, to grow strong, to dump expectations on people and call it duty. Sorry.”

“It’s fine… People look at heroes that way. That’s just people.”

“That’s true.”

Abigail smiled, then remembered. “Andor, if Stini comes back…”

“I know. I’ll show her what she wants to see. The same carefree Andor as before.”

“Good…”

The prince had just started to exhale when he heard the Hero say, soft as a blade drawn under cloth, “But when that time comes, help me take off my arm, will you? I don’t have the courage to break it myself…”

“…”

“Won’t you?”

“Of course. You’ve pushed for so long. Of course… even a Hero gets tired. He deserves time to rest, time to cry, time to give up. If those who expect you won’t grant it, I will. Just… don’t make everyone wait too long, all right?”

Abigail looked at Andor’s turned back, and asked in a whisper that fell like dusk.

“…I’m tired. I want to rest.” The Hero still said only that.

Silent, Abigail set the peeled apple on the bedside like an offering, sighed once, and went to the chair to sit.

“Abigail.”

“What is it?” The prince turned at his name like a thread tugged.

“Are you okay? Don’t you still need to prep for the peace conference?”

“But Stini’s out there. Someone has to guard you and Raven. The Hero’s busy. So it’s me.”

“This is the Sanctuary of Life. The Heretic Inquisition won’t act rashly for now. In the coming days, let’s move to the Great Temple to recuperate. We’ll ask Elina. Sorry to request it privately, but if we doubt the Heretic Inquisition’s fairness, we can apply to stay at the Great Temple. On grounds of justice, ask her help. That’ll go through.”

“Ha. You really are the same ruthless, black-handed Andor.”

“I’m trying to chase you off. You peeled off half the apple with the flesh. There’s only a core left. Go on, don’t waste my condolence gift.”

“As long as your mind’s still turning, I can relax.”

“Yeah. Abigail, I’m leaving these problem children to you while I’m gone. It’s your time now. Once your hands are free, watch Stini. Don’t let her, in her fury, do something she can’t take back.”

“You really do favor the Hero, huh.”

“She’s a natural airhead. Rare resource. Handle with care.”

Abigail couldn’t help laughing out loud, like a window thrown open to sun.

Not just because it was funny, but because his rival hadn’t lost hope in others over this. That was enough. As for those who owe you, and what they owe—you won’t collect alone.

The Second Prince of Beatrice let his face go cold like drawn steel, and made his vow.