Underneath the Silhouette-Chapter 85: Hint of Hope

The Duke slowly shook his head, his gaze somber, a silent confirmation of her greatest fear. The Duchess remained quiet, her gaze fixed on the gleaming tabletop, her expression sympathetic but equally devoid of answers.

A cold dread settled in Eirin’s chest. It felt futile. She knew, with a certainty that chilled her to the bone, how truly hopeless this situation had become. Her eyes then fell on Shade, struggling valiantly but fruitlessly to scoop food into his mouth.

Seeing this, the Duchess, sensing Eirin’s distress, immediately intervened. "Perhaps, the young lad would be more comfortable eating in your room, dear," she suggested kindly. Eirin didn’t hesitate, accepting the offer with a grateful nod.

Once they were back in the quiet sanctuary of their luxurious guest room, Eirin helped Shade with his meal, carefully spooning soft porridge into his mouth.

’I know he turned into a child,’ Eirin mused, observing his silent, docile obedience, ’but does that mean he can’t speak anymore?’

The thought lingered, a new, unsettling question. With how incredibly mild and gentle Shade had become—a stark contrast to his usual arrogant, prickly self—Eirin almost, almost, didn’t mind him staying like this a little longer. This childlike docility was a strangely pleasant change from his usual challenging demeanor.

But then, the practical side of her asserted itself. ’I need him for the mission, though,’ she reminded herself, the tangled threads of her thoughts forming a chaotic knot in her mind. As she was lost in this internal debate, Shade abruptly stopped eating, his small mouth clamped shut.

Eirin paused, a spoonful of porridge poised in mid-air, and raised a brow. "You need to eat so you can drink your medicine and get some rest," she coaxed, her voice firm but gentle, trying to guide the spoon to his lips. But he turned his head away, a stubborn, childish defiance in his tiny posture.

"Do you want to die with that fever?" Eirin asked, a hint of frustration creeping into her voice. She gently, but firmly, cupped his small face, turning him back towards her.

The young boy’s flushed an even deeper crimson, a shade that indicated not just fever but annoyance, as he squirmed, trying his best to get away from Eirin’s persistent grasp.

After that unexpectedly tiring ’dinner time’—which felt more like a wrestling match with a very small, stubborn child—Eirin finally managed to coax Shade to drink his bitter medicine. Almost immediately, the potion’s effects took hold, and his small body relaxed, his breathing deepening as he drifted into a heavy sleep.

Eirin touched Shade’s forehead again, her fingers brushing against skin that felt like a hot coal. She grimaced, a fresh wave of worry washing over her. He was still burning up.

"Feya." Eirin’s voice was barely a whisper, a plea sent into the quiet room.

The pixie materialized in a shimmer of golden dust, her tiny wings beating anxiously. Her face, usually cheerful, was etched with worry, as if anticipating her master’s queries for which she knew she might bear no immediate answer.

"Could you examine Shade’s body? Why is he running a fever like this? It’s not getting better."

Feya’s translucent eyes glowed with an internal, ethereal light as she hovered over Shade, her tiny hands gently sweeping over his small form, assessing his magical aura.

"It must be because his body turned younger, Master," she reported, her voice hushed. "His small, developing body cannot handle his immense, inherent mana. It’s too powerful for him in this shrunken state, and so it must be constantly released, manifesting as this fever."

"What should I do?" Eirin whispered, the words choked with despair, the weight of her predicament pressing down on her, cold and heavy.

It clearly pained the loyal pixie that she bore no definitive answer to her master’s desperate question. As the night deepened, blanketing the ducal estate in profound quiet, sleep remained an elusive dream for Eirin. Her mind spun, unable to find rest, so she finally decided to seek some fresh air on the expansive balcony of their room.

The relentless rain had long stopped, leaving behind only the silence of a world recently washed clean, broken only by the distant chirping of crickets.

Eirin leaned against the ornate stone railing, her sigh heavy in the still air. "What do I do?" she murmured to the cool night. She looked up, at the bright, full moon, a luminous pearl against the velvet black sky, casting long, silvery shadows across the vast gardens below.

The sight reminded her of the dwindling time they had. She remembered the bounty hunters’ words: the weeping bindweed would soon cease to exist this year, vanishing until the next bloom cycle.

The deadline loomed, an impossible barrier. The teenage girl sighed once again, her breath misting faintly in the cool air, and rubbed her arms, though it was more for comfort than warmth. Her eyes scanned the sprawling landscape below, appreciating the sheer, almost intimidating vastness of the manicured gardens, the meticulously trimmed hedges, and the distant, twinkling lights of the City of Egrane.

It brought into sharp relief the immense difference between a powerful ducal estate and a humble, forgotten town like Grimsby. The sheer scale of wealth and influence here was staggering.

"I just wish some kind of miracle would happen and help us with this mission," she whispered to the unresponsive night, the words a desperate player.

The next morning, Eirin woke to the soft light filtering through the heavy drapes. Shade was still by her side, their hands, one small and feverish, the other slender and tired, still loosely clasped together. She grunted softly, stretching, as she looked around the luxurious, yet now empty room.

The previous night’s turmoil felt distant, almost dreamlike, in the morning’s calm. When she reached out, her palm instinctively pressing against Shade’s forehead to check his temperature, the young boy’s eyes suddenly fluttered open.

With a burst of surprising, childlike energy, he immediately tried to get up from the bed, only to tumble off the edge with a soft, indignant thump. His short legs, to accustomed to a full-grown height, couldn’t possibly reach the floor, and the sight, despite their dire situation, made Eirin let out a soft, surprised chuckle.

The small boy, still bundled in the too-large nightshirt, shot a sharp, familiar glare at the teenage girl, his brow furrowed in miniature indignation. He opened his mouth, a tiny huff escaping, but before he could even utter a syllable, a soft knock sounded on the door.

A servant’s voice, muffled but clear, announced, "Good morning, Miss. Her Grace, the Duchess, wishes for you and your companion to join her for breakfast in the dining area."

Despite her lingering wariness and the awkwardness of last night’s revelations, Eirin felt a strange pull of obligation. She helped Shade get dressed in fresh, fitting clothes, then took his small hand, steeling herself to face the Duchess once again.

It seemed the Duke had already left to attend to some business, leaving the Duchess alone with the two unexpected student guests, a quiet intimacy settling over the grand manor.

"Good morning dear," Duchess Beatrice greeted them, her smile as warm and inviting as the previous evening. "My son’s old clothes fit your companion perfectly." Her gaze lingered on Shade, whose tiny form instinctively pressed closer to Eirin’s leg, effectively hiding behind the taller girl.

"By the way, my son’s name is Trixtan Laxford. If you meet him when he gets back, could you tell him we miss him?"

Eirin nodded. Shade, on the other hand, despite his dazed and weakened state, flinched visibly at the mention of that name. Eirin noticed it immediately, a new spark of confusion igniting within her.

Why did the young man react like that hearing that name? The question burned in her mind, but she couldn’t voice it, not with the Duchess so happily immersed in conversation.

Eirin didn’t want to disturb her, especially when the kind woman’s genuine warmth was the only comfort they’d found in this bewildering situation. Silence, she realized, was the least she could do to show her gratitude.

"Oh my, I do apologize for taking up so much of your time," Duchess Beatrice said, her pleasant tone unchanged, though she glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. "I shall have a carriage prepared for the two of you immediately, so you can continue your journey."

Masie, ever efficient and under the Duchess’s thoughtful orders, even prepared a substantial packed lunch for the students. She even gave them new clothes, befitting for their journey. As Shade, still moving stiffly, was gently helped into the waiting carriage, the Duchess reached out, taking Eirin’s hand in hers, a soft, deliberate touch that halted her just as she was about to step inside.

"This might not be the answer you’re looking for, my dear," the Duchess whispered conspiratorially into Eirin’s ear, her voice barely audible above the faint jingle of the carriage harness.

A knowing, almost mischievous smile played on her lips as she released Eirin’s hand. "But there’s an old legend that says the cure for the nymph’s curse... is a true love’s kiss." The words, spoken so lightly, landed on Eirin’s ears with the force of a thunderclap.

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