Chapter Text
Snowflakes feathered down, each a tiny shiver of moonlight.
Shirayuki pulled her scarf higher with one hand, cradling a steaming cup of tea in the other.
With Zen at her side, she looked out from Wirant’s balcony—shoulder to shoulder—at a world caught between snowfall and stars. Phostyrias speckled the landscape like scattered diamonds. Their glow clung to the castle walls, spilled through the lively town of Wolkitra, and blurred upward into the starlit sky.
“They’re a big hit in the north these days,” Zen said, leaning an elbow on the ornate railing. “The lights, I mean.”
“Mhm.” Shirayuki lowered her cup. “They’ve taken over the snowy fields—Shidan and the others must be thrilled.”
The mention tugged her memory back—to Lilias.
The breakthroughs.
The tea-fueled late nights.
Shidan, Rata, Ryu, and the others’ restless brilliance.
Obi’s presence—the heartbeat she never had to listen for; it was simply there.
Every treasured moment stitched into the years like beads on a string. And yet, with Zen, time had slipped through her fingers—reduced to letters, stolen moments, never enough.
“I missed this,” she whispered, resting her head against his shoulder.
Zen pulled her in tighter. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s been nonstop.”
She let her gaze wander over the fields awash in light.
The phostyrias had stirred up excitement all across the north—and far beyond. Everyone chasing a glimpse of the plants that brought color to the dead of winter.
The north’s rising popularity would only strengthen Zen’s influence as second prince. Trade had boomed along with it—so much so that even foreign routes had begun to redirect through Wirant, Lilias and Wolkitra, chasing the new pulse of life.
“I’m glad we brought on more medical staff,” she added thoughtfully. “With all the flus and colds going around… it’s helped us weather the storm. Even Obi’s been helping between shifts. He kept grumbling while no one was looking, but he’s so sharp—half the time he spotted fevers before the doctors did.”
Zen snorted. “Typical Obi. Pretend he’s miserable, do twice the work anyway.”
Steam curled between her knuckles as she breathed out. Zen would become Warden, wouldn’t he? What would that mean for her?
A small smile ghosted across her lips, chasing away the doubt—if only for a little while.
“We make a good team,” she said simply.
Zen met her gaze—one heartbeat, two—then pressed a kiss to her forehead, light as a vow. “We do.”
For a moment longer, they stayed wrapped in each other’s calm.
Zen shifted slightly, his arm brushing hers.
“Things will change,” he hesitated—not out of doubt, but something heavier, unspoken. “More responsibilities. More distance, maybe.”
She met his eyes.
He wanted to say more—she could feel it.
But then—
A burst of noise from the courtyard shattered the moment.
Shirayuki pulled back, peering over the railing.
Below—commotion.
Fast.
Urgent.
A guard barreled onto the balcony, breathless.
He thrust a letter toward Zen.
“Forgive the intrusion, Your Highness, but we’ve just received an urgent message—Lord Makiri!”
Zen’s expression darkened.
He tore the seal open, scanning the contents with mounting tension.
He turned to Shirayuki, his voice low and cutting.
“To Lilias.
Now.”
༻ ✧ ༺
Along the halls, castle guards straightened at the prince’s passing, his soles striking the marble, each step louder than the last.
His two aides and Shirayuki rushed after him, urgency quickening their steps as they left Wirant behind.
“They think I’m just going to stand aside?” Zen muttered.
Mitsuhide, half-jogging to keep up, spluttered, “Wait—this is real?!”
The heavy doors loomed ahead, thrown open to the night.
Kiki and Shirayuki caught each other’s eyes.
The carriage waited in the courtyard, wheels rimmed with snow, horses stamping into their traces, their breath rising in clouds.
They piled in, urgency snapping at their heels, and the driver cracked the reins, lurching over frost-slick stone.
Inside, Zen sat rigid, one hand braced against the window frame, his jaw locked tight enough to splinter.
Across from him, Mitsuhide shifted awkwardly, casting a glance at Kiki as if hoping she’d say something—anything—to break the pressure closing in.
She didn’t.
Neither did Shirayuki.
She only watched Zen, heart hammering in her chest, the cold leaking in through every seam of the carriage as they rattled downhill toward the gates.
Then—
Zen exhaled hard through his nose, a sound more frustration than breath. He leaned back, knuckles still white where his hand gripped the frame.
“Apparently,” Zen said, voice low and controlled, “when the phostyrias started drawing crowds, some Saman merchants started coming north.”
His gaze stayed fixed on the blurred window, refusing to meet theirs.
“Word got back. Through them. To a certain Lord Rudra.”
Mitsuhide’s brows furrowed, still catching up. “So… they recognized Obi?”
“They recognized Yuma,” Zen corrected.
The name dropped like a stone into the cramped space.
Shirayuki’s hands tightened around the folds of her coat.
Obi…
Yuma…
Zen went on.
“We didn’t know before. Where he was really from. What his real name was.” He shook his head, bitterness bleeding through. “If that’s his real name.”
Silence.
Outside, the lights of Wolkitra blurred past.
“They’re saying he’s guilty of theft,” Zen said flatly. “And murder.”
Shirayuki’s breath hitched—memory stirring—the way Obi had always stayed just a little outside their circle, even when he smiled, even when he joked.
Now she understood why.
Zen’s hand dropped from the window, curling loosely at his side.
“But they’re wrong about one thing.”
His voice sank lower.
“They think I’m just going to let them have him.”
༻ ✧ ༺
Wolkitra fell away behind them—no more windows spilling warmth into the dark.
Only open fields now.
Only stars.
The closer they got to Lilias, the quieter Zen became, the tension beating off him like heat from a brand.
Shirayuki barely moved, barely breathed, afraid that if she shifted even once, something between them would snap.
Kiki broke the silence.
“Can they even take Obi away without Clarines’ consent?”
“No,” Zen said, clipped. “They can’t.”
A breath. Heavy. Tight.
“They probably think no one will raise a fuss. That he’s just a stray, no standing.” He finally shifted, the faintest edge of a bitter smile ghosting his mouth. “But Obi has a title now.
Recognition.
They can’t just make him disappear without people noticing.”
.
.
.
They rattled a final hill—
and there it was.
Lilias.
The carriage didn’t even come to a full stop—Zen was already throwing open the door before the wheels had finished grinding.
He hit the ground first, boots cracking frost.
Mitsuhide and Kiki spilled after him.
Shirayuki followed, her scarf tugged up high against the cold.
The entrance to Lilias loomed ahead—lit by torchlight, bristling with gathered researchers and guards.
Crowds shifting.
Murmurs catching the wind.
Zen didn’t slow.
He stormed through the courtyard and into the wide, yawning entrance hall, his coat snapping behind him like a battle flag.
Inside—
The Lilias academy seethed with restless forms.
Researchers halted mid-step.
Guards braced themselves instinctively.
Low chatter rose around them—nervous, half-whispered.
Ryu, Kirito, Yuzuri—
they were there, faces tight, peering from the edges of the crowd.
“Isn’t that Sir Obi?”
“I heard Sama—are those desert warriors?”
“Look at their swords—”
Zen’s gaze cut through all of it. Straight to the front of the hall. There—waiting near the main steps—stood Lord Makiri. Shoulders stiff, arms crossed.
And farther—
Obi.
Slouched against a pillar, head down.
A kunai spinning lazy circles through his fingers.
Detached.
Like none of this touched him at all.
Across from him—
A knot of foreign figures.
Dark-layered robes, heavy with desert dust. Scimitars gleamed at their hips. Every one of them carried the same coiled stillness, the same sharp-edged patience.
Their eyes snapped to Zen the moment he entered.
One of the foreigners broke from the cluster.
The envoy.
Layers of desert cloth and authority wrapped around him like a second skin.
He didn’t bow.
Didn’t smile.
Only said, voice laced with impatience:
“At last.”
Zen’s eyes narrowed to knives.
“Well?” he demanded, voice cutting. “Mind explaining what this is about?”
Before the envoy could open his mouth, Lord Makiri stepped in.
“Your Highness,” he said. “As stated in my letter—an extradition party. From Sama.” His mouth twisted on the words. “They’ve come to escort Obi for legal proceedings.”
Zen’s tone snapped sharp.
“Yeah, yeah. I got that part.” His gaze flicked to the desert warriors. “What I’m aching to know is why they think they can barge in unannounced—and yank my knight away without so much as a hearing.”
The envoy’s voice hardened.
“A hearing? Your Highness—the one you call Obi is a lawless fugitive. A native of Sama.”
Zen’s voice sliced.
“AND an esteemed knight of Clarines.”
Obi didn’t move.
Didn’t lift his head.
He might as well have been a statue at the edge of the gathering.
“Yes, so we’ve heard,” the envoy said. “And it complicates things.” He gave a slow, deliberate look toward Obi—then back to Zen. “Why you would appoint this criminal your knight is beyond us. His crimes could tarnish your name—and your nation’s.”
A pause.
A beat.
And then—
“He is guilty of felony.
Specifically—
theft.
And murder.”
.
.
.
Obi’s kunai stilled.
He slipped it away.
And finally moved.
Without looking at Zen, without looking at anyone,
he pushed forward
—past him.
And bowed slightly to the envoy, eyes closed.
“Prince Zen was not aware of my history regarding Sama,” Obi said, voice steady. “Please do not fault him for giving me the honor of serving him.”
Then—
he turned.
Lifted his gaze.
Met Zen’s eyes—
truly met them—
for the first time that night.
And knelt.
Sword, daggers, identification tag—laid down at Zen’s feet.
“I, Obi,” he said, “resign from my role as His Highness Prince Zen’s personal knight.”
His voice didn’t shake.
Not even once.
“With a heavy heart, I return my sword—deeply regretful for the events that have unfolded.”
Zen opened his mouth—
but Obi cut him off with nothing but a smile.
A pained,
devastating
smile.
The gathered researchers stirred at the edges of the room.
Whispers crept along the walls.
Makiri lifted a hand sharply.
“This matter is not for public concern. Return to your work.”
The crowd thinned slowly.
Some, like Ryu, lingered longer—hearts heavy—before they too vanished down side corridors.
At last—the hall stilled.
Only the core remained.
Facing the Samans again, Obi said:
“I’m willingly going with you. I won’t cause any more trouble.”
“Like hell you are,” Zen snapped.
The envoy raised an eyebrow, almost amused. “You intend to refuse?”
Zen’s voice was low, dangerous. “This is Clarines soil. If you want to extradite anyone, you go through the Council. You do it properly. You don’t just storm into my country and lay hands on one of my knights.”
The envoy gave a lazy shrug, as if Zen’s outrage was a gnat to be swatted away.
But before Zen could order them out—
Obi moved.
Quick, sure, heartbreakingly calm.
He bowed his head again.
“I am going. Of my own will. No force needed.”
“When Lord Rudra hears this,” the envoy scoffed, “he won’t believe it. Yuma behaving like a real knight! What a farce.”
A signal—small.
Two Saman guards rushed Obi, chains chasing after them.
Hands snatched at Obi—
—but Mitsuhide slammed one back with a forearm to the chest.
Kiki cut between the other and Obi, hand dropping to her blade—swift, warning, lethal.
Zen’s voice ripped through the hall like a whip. “BACK OFF.”
The Saman guards hesitated, taken off guard.
Obi sighed, quiet and wrecked.
“I said I’ll go,” he repeated, softer now. “Willingly.
Master…”
Zen wouldn’t hear it. He crossed the space between them in two strides, seizing Obi by the shoulder and yanking him aside—
just enough to get him out of the Samans’ reach.
Just enough that it was their moment again.
Just the two of them.
Zen faced Obi.
Pale under torchlight.
The sight tore something loose inside him.
“OBI, YOU MORON, WHAT THE HECK?!” He shook him once, hard. “Speak to me!”
Obi’s voice—when it came—was rough gravel, heavy as stone.
“Their accusations…”
He drew a shallow breath.
“I’m mixed up in all of it.”
He forced a tight smile.
“I wish I could stay.”
A pause.
“I’m… sorry.”
Shirayuki stepped closer; so did Kiki and Mitsuhide, while Lilias guards held the Samans at bay.
Zen’s grip faltered. “But you—”
“—I was a kid,” Obi cut in.
A bitter laugh.
Thin.
Cracked.
“Just a kid when it started.”
Another pause.
Another breath—
tight, whistling through clenched teeth.
“I’ve been all over—Sama, Tanbarun, Clarines… I can’t let your name get dragged down because of me, Master.”
Obi laughed again—low, self-mocking. “Maybe I was way over my head. Thinking I could just… start over.”
Kiki stepped forward, voice low. “What will happen to you?”
Obi’s mouth twisted faintly. “They’ll haul me to Marwa—the capital.”
Another breath.
“Chuck me into something they call ‘the Ring.’ It’s… execution painted pretty for the bloodthirsty.”
Shirayuki gasped softly, one hand flying to her mouth.
“You fight every day,” Obi said.
“Against prisoners, beasts—
whatever gets the crowd going.”
His mouth quirked.
“Until you…” his throat worked. “Until you don’t anymore.”
Mitsuhide choked on a curse.
Obi turned his gaze—finally—to Shirayuki.
Something fragile and wrecked inside him. “I’m sorry, my Lady,” he said, voice roughening. “Keep reaching for the stars, alright?”
She couldn’t speak, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
Obi’s golden eyes swept over them—
Mitsuhide.
Kiki.
Shirayuki.
And lastly—
Zen.
“Man, I hate goodbyes,” Obi said, voice cracking at the edges.
“So—
Thanks for the ride.
It’s been loads of fun.”
“You don’t have to do this.” Zen grabbed Obi by the arm. “They can’t touch you here.”
“Maybe today.” Obi’s voice was low. Worn thin. “But if I stay… it won’t stop there.”
Zen shook his head hard. “We’ll fight it. The Council, the King—hell, I’ll drag it into the courts myself if I have to—”
Obi squeezed his arm once, stopping him. “If I stay,” he said quietly, “they’ll come after you.
After the royal family.
After Clarines.”
Zen froze.
Breath caught sharp in his throat.
Obi’s gaze was steady.
Heartbreakingly steady.
“They’ll call it harboring a criminal. International breach.
Trade sanctions.
The kind of pressure no kingdom shakes off easily.”
Zen stared at him, feeling the ground tilt under his feet.
This wasn’t just about Obi.
It never had been.
“Obi,” Zen rasped, voice fraying at the edges. “What the hell have you gotten caught in?”
A beat.
A breath.
“No…” Zen looked down, jaw tight, eyes flickering. “You knew.”
His gaze lifted, searing into Obi’s.
“All this time… you knew. The more power I gained… the more vulnerable you became. You could’ve run. Disappeared into the next country, the next shadow.
But not this time.
Not with us.”
Zen’s chest rose, fell—uneven.
“That’s why you held back. That’s why you hesitated before I knighted you… before Lilias…
You were already saying goodbye, weren’t you?”
Obi’s eyes widened—just barely—
then lowered, lashes casting faint shadows.
And in that breathless hush, he smiled—
small, wrecked, and somehow still full of that stubborn, infuriating loyalty.
“I’m sorry, Master.”
Behind them, the Samans shuffled, chains clinking with every twitch.
Zen looked at them.
Looked at Obi.
And realized—
He had no choice.
Not without dragging Clarines into a political war it couldn’t afford.
Zen’s hands dropped to his sides, fists shaking.
“…Release them,” he said, raw.
The Lilias guards stepped aside reluctantly, clearing the way.
The Samans moved immediately.
They seized Obi roughly, twisting his arms behind his back, snapping heavy chains around his wrists with brutal finality.
One shoved him forward; another yanked the slack taut.
Obi didn’t fight.
Didn’t resist.
Only let himself be dragged away.
.
.
.
Then—
he turned.
The guards pulled him away.
Zen stumbled, chest heaving.
“OBI! You better not go down without a fight, y’hear me?!
Stay alive!
Buy us time!”
Obi twisted as they shoved him forward—
one last, burning smile.
“As you wish, Master.”
The chains dragged, snarling.
The iron carriage swallowed him whole, the door slamming like a final blow.
The wheels chewed the gravel.
Shrinking.
Shrinking.
Shrinking—
Until Obi vanished into the kind of mirage the snow shouldn’t have been able to make.