Compared to the past two nights, Lilitha slept soundly, a faint smile curling at the corners of her lips as if lost in a sweet dream.
Rogue sat beside her, ready to wake her—but that pure, innocent smile made his hand pause mid-motion.
The last time he’d seen Lilitha smile like this was when she’d awaited her father’s arrival. Back then, the smile had been strained and pitiful on her weary face.
Now, with the Silver Dragon King Gudexia gone, this genuine smile in sleep finally revealed Lilitha’s true, endearing nature.
Curled into a ball, she hugged her plump tail close. Baby-fat cheeks dimpled softly, tiny fangs peeking beside a faint trail of drool. Her petite nose twitched now and then, radiating a liveliness Rogue had never seen before. Flawless skin, white as carved ivory, only deepened her charm.
*She must have been truly happy before becoming a slave and ending up here,* Rogue thought. *Otherwise, she wouldn’t smile like this.* He recalled his own past three years—every smile he’d worn had been forced, hollow, or utterly fake.
A flicker of longing stirred in him.
But that was all. After letting Lilitha sleep an extra half-hour, Rogue gently shook her awake.
The Young Dragon Princess blinked open her eyes, still dazed by the dream. Her gaze shimmered with vivid, hopeful light.
Then, in an instant, reality crashed in. The grimy warehouse walls dimmed the sparkle in her eyes.
*Father is gone. Mother abandoned me long ago. And now… this cramped, shadowed cell.*
*That happiness? Only a dream.*
Rogue had expected this. A good night’s rest had revived her spirit—her eyes held life again. *That’s what matters most.*
He brought out the wooden tub, washed her as usual, then fed her.
Perhaps the rest had restored her strength and appetite. During feeding, Lilitha grew restless. Rogue positioned her like a puppy. Whether from instinctive resistance or shame at the posture, she squirmed, her hands sliding off her thighs. Once, she even tried snatching food from his hand.
Rogue felt a surge of satisfaction. These subconscious reactions—this raw hunger—were exactly the instincts he aimed to rebuild in her. Proof her spirit was healing.
But defiance couldn’t go unchecked. Measured punishment, sharp but brief, would sharpen her bodily awareness—a key to unlocking her closed-off mind.
He’d planned a week before reaching this stage. Yet here she was, ready after mere days.
Still, he held back. Each correction was light—a tap, a pinch—just enough for her to feel *his* hand behind the sting.
After feeding, Rogue placed an extra crust of bread on a stool near her corner. *She won’t be full on this alone. Let’s see if hunger drives her to reach for it.* He left, closing the warehouse door but leaving the high window slightly ajar. A single shaft of light pierced the gloom, illuminating the bread.
Outside, Rogue watched through the translucent walls. Lilitha’s eyes followed the light… but she never moved toward the bread.
Half an hour passed. Her gaze grew distant, hollow.
Rogue frowned. Hunger was instinct. Yet her focus had shattered—food meant nothing to her now. *This experiment failed.*
Nearby, Puppet No. 1 clanked over on its wheels. *"Clank… whirr…"*
"Breakfast," Rogue muttered. "Bring me bread too."
He changed his usual meal. When the puppet returned with a stale, misshapen loaf—coarse and poorly baked—he stared at it. He rarely ate such fare; last time was after feeding Lilitha.
He bit in. Dry. Bitter. A torment for someone accustomed to fine dining.
Yet he forced down piece after piece. Halfway through, he glanced at Lilitha—and his appetite vanished.
*As her master, I shouldn’t be affected by this little dragon’s state.*
*…It’s just the awful bread.*
Rogue stood, dusting off his clothes. Time to study practical Dragon Tongue phrases for daily talk with Lilitha. And to sort through the prisoners’ parchment logs.
At noon and evening feedings, Lilitha remained unresponsive—only flinching slightly during her sponge baths.
The next morning, Rogue checked on her before Puppet No. 4 rolled up, dragging a corpse.
"Another dead?" Rogue raised a brow. He hadn’t visited the prisoners in days; No. 4 handled them.
*"Clank-clatter! Whirr!"*
The puppet’s mechanical voice conveyed meaning through their magical bond.
"*Moy…*"
Again—a prisoner near the cell of Moy, the young princess of House Gracey, had died. *A signal. She wants to see me.*
Rogue’s eyes narrowed. Meeting Moy made sense. As a former member of the Hero Squad, she’d know about the events three years ago. Even if she’d also lost her memories…
He remembered clearly the night Eris ambushed him. Her shock when he used Gracey sword techniques.
*Moy likely knows why.*
A new suspicion hardened in his mind: *My true identity… I was probably one of the original Hero Squad. At the very least, a key follower like Gudexia.*
"I’ll see her the day after tomorrow."
Decision made, Rogue returned to Lilitha’s warehouse. Her condition held steady through morning and noon—but by nightfall, the dead silence clinging to her since the Silver Dragon King’s death finally cracked.
