Caelith walked over and examined Yvaine’s injured hand.

"Fortunately, it was treated quickly."

Only then did Erian release her hand and step backward again, instantly returning to his usual silent demeanor.

Yvaine looked at him with reddened eyes. "Thank you..."

Erian said nothing and simply turned and walked away.

. . .

That night, Caelith went to the rear courtyard to find him.

Erian sat beneath the old pear tree, the pale moonlight pouring over his figure and stretching his shadow long across the stone ground.

Caelith walked over quietly and sat beside him.

"You seem quite experienced with treating wounds."

Erian shook his head. "All the credit goes to Sir Grandien––he taught me." His voice remained low and rough from long silence. "He said that those who survive must learn how to care for themselves."

Caelith fell silent at his words.

Moonlight draped itself across the two of them, and the courtyard was so still that even the distant chirping of insects sounded painfully clear.

Only after a long while did she speak again. "What else... did he teach you?"

Erian took a moment to think about his words.

"A great many things." He lowered his eyes to his fingers as though he was counting. "Reading. Accounting. Recognizing medicinal herbs. Fighting. Escaping."

Then, after a brief pause, he added quietly, "How to stay alive."

Caelith’s heart stung instantly. She remembered Osvald’s bloodstained face.

Remembered the warmth of his hand holding hers one final time as he whispered, Live well.

Drawing in a slow breath, she steadied herself. "From now on, you don’t need to think about those things anymore. You only need to live well."

For the first time, genuine surprise flickered across his usually expressionless face.

Then he nodded slowly. "...Thank you, Miss."

***

From that day onward, Caelith’s attitude toward him changed by a lot. He was no longer merely someone she had taken in. He had become the final trace Osvald left behind in this world.

Sometimes during meals, she would quietly place an extra portion of food onto his plate. Erian would stare at the added food in silence for a moment before lowering his head and eating it without a word.

Whenever it rained, she would tell him to come inside and avoid the cold. But Erian would only remain standing beneath the eaves, shaking his head quietly.

"My clothes are dirty. I shouldn’t."

Each time she heard those words, something inside Caelith tightened painfully.

She remembered what he had once said: Those who survive must learn how to care for themselves.

Then why wouldn’t he care for himself? Who had ever taught him how to truly live?

***

Rhaegar had been away on official business for half a month before finally returning. When he arrived at Firefly Pavilion, Caelith was seated inside, working on an order.

Sunlight streamed through the lattice windows, falling softly across her figure and bathing her in warm golden light.

Outside the doorway, Erian crouched beside a pile of firewood, splitting logs with an axe.

The sound of approaching hoofbeats echoed from the distant street. The young man lifted his head and glanced toward the road.

A man clad in black rode slowly toward the embroidery house, a long sword hanging at his waist.

His gaze swept directly toward them. Their eyes met briefly in the midst of the motion, only for an instant.

Then, Erian lowered his head again and continued chopping wood.

Rhaegar swung down from his horse and entered the shop.

Hearing movement, Caelith looked up.

The moment she saw him, light flickered briefly within her eyes. She immediately set aside the embroidery frame and rose to greet him.

"You’re back!"

"I am." Rhaegar wrapped an arm around her waist and lowered his head to brush a kiss against her forehead.

That familiar scent surrounded her once more. Caelith closed her eyes briefly, a faint smile curving her lips.

Outside the doorway, the sound of chopping wood continued steadily, one strike after another.

Rhaegar lifted his gaze toward the entrance.

Erian stood with his back facing the doorway, raising the axe before bringing it down cleanly through the wood. The movements were sharp, efficient, and powerful.

"Who is that?" Rhaegar finally incquired.

Caelith paused for the briefest moment. "His name is Erian. I found him on the roadside. He had nowhere to go, so I let him stay and help with work."

Rhaegar quietly walked outside and stopped at the doorway, silently watching him at work.

The axe fell again. The log split cleanly into two halves. Erian bent down to gather the firewood and stack it neatly beside him.

Sensing the gaze upon him, he finally lifted his head. Their eyes met once more. The exchange lasted only a heartbeat. Then Erian lowered his gaze again and resumed his work.

Rhaegar turned and walked back inside, still saying absolutely nothing about the new worker.

***

That night, when the two of them were finally alone together, Rhaegar suddenly started,

"That Erian... is not an ordinary man."

Caelith was spreading the bedding when her hands paused. "What do you mean?"

Rhaegar leaned against the headboard, watching her with a steady gaze.

"The way he looks at people." His voice was calm, almost lazy. "Those are the eyes of someone who has killed before."

Caelith’s heartbeat faltered sharply, yet she continued smoothing the blankets as though nothing had happened, never turning around.

"He’s just a pitiful wanderer I found by the roadside. You’re overthinking it. It is your job to stay alert, cautious of everyone."

Rhaegar chose to leave that comment without an answer.

By the time she finished arranging the bed and turned around, she realized he was still watching her. That gaze was deep––so deep ss though he wished to see through every secret hidden beneath her skin.

Caelith walked over and sat beside him.

"Rhaegar."

"Mm?"

"He has no family. No home. He doesn’t even have a real name." She lowered her eyes slightly. "I only pitied him."

Rhaegar looked at her for a long moment, studying her face. "You are too soft-hearted."

Caelith reacted to that with a soft laugh. "Is this your first day knowing me?"

The moment he saw that smile, the sharpness in his gaze softened slightly. He reached out and pulled her into his arms.

"If you say so, then I’ll believe it."

Caelith rested her face against his chest and said nothing further.

But she knew very well—even if he chose not to press the matter aloud, it did not mean he truly believed her.

Rhaegar was far too perceptive.