It was raining.
The kind of rain that blurred the edges of the world, turning everything into a watercolor of gray and silver. Each droplet fell with a quiet insistence, a gentle percussion against the pavement. He had no umbrella. There was no need. He let the rain take him, let it claim him entirely.
It was a deluge, the kind that turned puddles into lakes, the kind that carried ants to their watery graves. The rain soaked through his clothes, his hair, his skin—until it felt as though even his thoughts had become damp. He walked, unhurried, his steps splashing softly in the growing pools. He walked where he always walked at this hour, along the same streets, under the same darkening sky.
The sun, half-hidden behind a veil of clouds, dipped lower, pulling the world into twilight. It was time. Time for the coffee shop. Time to follow the rhythm of a year-long habit that had become more than mere routine.
He would enter the warmth, shaking off the rain like a dog shedding water, and he would decide—perhaps a slice of cake with frosting that glistened under the soft yellow lights. Or a cup of coffee, rich and aromatic, its steam curling in the air like an invitation. Perhaps a waffle, golden and sweet, with syrup pooling in its squares.
Or perhaps all three.
Yes, he would buy all three. He would savor them, one after the other. And then, once he was done, he would buy them again. Not for the hunger they would satisfy, but for the chance that she might come.
Would she approach with that smile? The one that made him feel as though his blood had turned to syrup, thick and heavy with sweetness. Or would her voice, lilting and light, wrap around him like a melody he never wanted to end? She would probably scold him.
“You’re wasting too much money,” she’d say, her tone half stern, half soft. “And too much time.”
And yet, even as she chided him, she would hand him the plate, the cup, the warmth of her presence. That was who she was—kind, in ways that often hurt more than cruelty.
It didn’t matter if she had forgotten. If their moments together had faded from her memory like breath on a windowpane. He remembered. He remembered it all.
The rain fell harder now, each drop a fleeting sting against his skin. And yet, for all its persistence, it was fragile. Each one shattered on contact, breaking apart into nothingness. So many, so relentless, and yet so fleeting.
Much like her.
*****
“I know it’s been said before, but… you really are incredible, my prince.”
Azriel lay on the ground, panting heavily, his bare chest rising and falling with each breath. Sweat clung to his skin, leaving him completely drenched.
They were in one of the academy’s first-year public sparring rooms.
Why not a private one?
Because the public sparring rooms were completely empty.
The first years hadn’t fully grasped the reality of needing to grow stronger yet. That would change soon enough.
For now, with the public rooms vacant, Azriel had decided they’d suffice for training with Amaya.
Training.
In the form of getting beaten senseless.
Still, it was training.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t feeling every blow.
The compliment directed at him didn’t lift Azriel’s spirits. Instead, it left a bitter taste as he turned his head toward her.
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“Are you sure you’re holding back? This feels pretty one-sided…”
Amaya chuckled softly.
“I am. You should be proud. Most at your level wouldn’t even manage to land a single strike, yet you’ve countered multiple times. Honestly, only the most skilled intermediates could hope to match you. And with your aura, you could probably hold your own against an advanced.”
Praise after praise spilled from Amaya’s lips, but Azriel dismissed it. Rising to his feet, he silenced her mid-sentence. She blinked, fluttering her eyelids in confusion.
“My prince?”
Rolling his shoulders, Azriel stretched his arms, then reached for the wooden sword at his feet. Lifting it, he pointed the blade toward Amaya.
“…I think we should take a break for today. It’s been three hours already.”
Despite her suggestion, Azriel shook his head firmly.
“I can keep going. Don’t worry about me.”
Amaya’s face twisted with concern.
She admired his dedication—more than that, she was overjoyed by it. But there was a limit, and she didn’t want him pushing himself to the brink of collapse.
His body had to be aching, screaming for rest. Anyone else at his level would have dropped to the floor like a lifeless doll by now.
Yet Azriel stood tall, his body showing no sign of trembling.
Amaya’s only conclusion was that he was hiding it all.
And while she found that level of control impressive, even admirable, it broke her heart to think of how he’d learned it.
She knew what had happened to him in the Void Realm. She knew what kind of hell he had endured.
For someone his age to have gone through all of that…
Amaya couldn’t help but worry. For the child she had seen grow up before her eyes, she wanted—no, needed—him to find some semblance of happiness.
But undoubtably, he wasn’t just hiding the fatigue from training. He was hiding so much more.
The thought felt like a hand squeezing her heart.
Amaya knew better than to confront him outright. Azriel was stubborn, and no amount of reasoning would sway him. So she decided to try a different approach.
“Even if you can keep going… Lady Iryndra is probably starting to get bored, Your Highness.”
Azriel froze mid-step, her words halting him entirely. Slowly, he turned his gaze toward one of the walls.
Amaya followed his line of sight.
There, seated on a throne of ice, was Iryndra.
The frost-like sheen of the throne glistened under the room’s dim light, while she nibbled on a chocolate cookie with delight. A bag of the same cookies rested comfortably on her lap.
Hesitating for a moment, Azriel finally asked,
“Iryndra, are you bored?”
“Mm?”
Caught off guard, Iryndra looked up, her golden eyes meeting his. Both Azriel and Amaya were watching her now.
Swallowing the cookie in her mouth, she quickly shook her head, making her long hair sway with the motion.
“I’m not. I enjoy watching you two spar.”
Azriel studied her expression for a moment. Those golden eyes, betrayed no hint of deception. He turned back to Amaya.
“She says she’s fine.”
Amaya’s face darkened slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. Before she could respond, Iryndra’s voice suddenly rang out.
“Ah! Sister Celestina!”
Both Azriel and Amaya blinked, exchanging puzzled glances before turning toward the door.
There stood Celestina, a small smile gracing her lips.
Iryndra wasted no time. She ran toward the princess, who crouched down swiftly, wrapping her in a warm embrace.
“….”
…They had grown close.
It made Azriel wonder again.
What exactly had happened during that sleepover?
Was Iryndra simply won over by those snacks Celestina had brought back then?
Probably both.
Azriel walked toward her, Amaya following close behind.
“Are you here to spar?”
But as Azriel glanced behind Celestina, he noticed no one else was there—just her.
Celestina hesitated for a moment, her lips parting slightly before she finally spoke.
“No. I’m here for you.”
“For me?”
Azriel tilted his head, confusion clear on his face.
Her eyes, deep and contemplative, seemed to search for the right words. She closed them briefly, took a measured breath, and then fixed him with a steady, determined gaze.
Azriel stood still, quietly observing, unsure of what to expect. Then, she finally spoke.
“I want you to join my faction.”
“…What?”
Celestina held his gaze, and repeated herself.
“I want you to join my faction. Jasmine told me you weren’t planning to join hers, the student council, or any faction at all.”
Azriel scratched the back of his head.
“That’s correct. But if you already know that, why come to me with this? I have no interest in competing over who has the most influence in the academy or who can beat up the most people.”
Besides, if he did join a faction, what made her think he’d choose hers over Jasmine’s?
It seemed Celestina was prepared for that line of thought.
“Everyone assumes you’ll join Jasmine’s faction or the student council. By tomorrow, that assumption will be proven wrong. After that, no one in their right mind would pass up the chance to recruit you—the apex of the first years and Azriel Crimson, Jasmine Crimson’s younger brother. And in the end… wouldn’t you still have to show off and beat them anyway?”
Azriel’s gaze hardened slightly at her words, but Celestina’s lips curved into a faint smile.
“You have a point,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m interested in aligning myself with anyone. And even if I were, wouldn’t it make the most sense to join my sister?”
Celestina nodded, as though she’d anticipated his response.
“Logically, it would make perfect sense to join Jasmine—she’s the student council president and the leader of the strongest faction in the academy. But…” Her eyes gleamed.
“That would be too boring for you, wouldn’t it? If you joined Jasmine, there’d be no challenge. Even though my faction might seem equal to the other great factions because of my name, it’s no stronger than any of the lesser ones right now. But if you joined me, that would change. I’m simply taking advantage of an opportunity before anyone else can.”
Azriel rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his expression unreadable. Iryndra and Amaya watched silently, neither one daring to interrupt.
“What you’re saying makes sense,” Azriel finally said. “But in the end, it all comes down to the same thing—I’m still not interested in getting involved with the factions.”
Celestina must have known that from the start. If she’d already spoken with Jasmine about this, then she was well aware of his stance.
So why was she smiling?