Bathwater
"Hey, do you know the story of Endymion?"
Across a meadow painted in flowers of every color, two children walked side by side over a rainbow-hued field in full spring bloom.
"Endymion?"
The boy turned the name over in his mind at the sudden question from the girl who had spun to look at him. It was familiar—something he had heard before—and before long he recalled it from the dull lessons of their private tutor only days ago.
"Ah. The goddess of the moon's..."
"No! Not the goddess of the moon—the goddess of moonlight!"
What difference did that even make? This was exactly why the boy hated theology. The gods in those stories were all temperamental, and though there was only one sun and one moon, there were two deities for each. People had eventually started distinguishing between the god of the sun and the god of sunlight, the god of the moon and the goddess of moonlight—but to a child, it was still hopelessly confusing.
"Fine, fine. Goddess of moonlight. Happy?"
When the boy answered halfheartedly, the girl glared at him. Unlike him, she adored theology. Stories of eccentric gods and the many kinds of people who crossed their paths never failed to fascinate her. The free weekend school at the temple, where the priestess told old legends, ranked just below playing with the boy on her list of favorite things.
"Honestly, looking at you, you'd never guess you were a noble."
Before she met him, the girl had imagined nobles as formidable, even frightening figures. She didn't know exactly what they did, only that every adult seemed to fear them.
But the moment she actually met a young master from a noble house, that image shattered completely. A noble who hated studying, loved running wild outdoors, and casually took meals at a commoner's house—hers—without a second thought.
She might not know much about nobility, but even she could tell he was nothing like an ordinary one.
"Well, there are nobles like me, too."
"Ugh, whatever. Anyway, Endymion is the name of the boy the goddess of moonlight loved."
Even under her glare, the boy only answered absently, so the girl heaved a deep sigh and began to explain.
Long ago, Endymion had been a shepherd boy favored by the goddess. A pure-hearted child who loved flowers more than anyone. The goddess of moonlight wished for him to live forever untouched by the world's stains, preserving that innocence.
But the fates of mortals were a taboo even gods could not lightly trespass. However deeply the goddess loved Endymion, she could not casually interfere with his destiny.
In time, Endymion was swept into the flames of war. He lost his purity, and met a wretched end on the battlefield.
Grieving the boy who had changed and died, mourning the face she remembered, the goddess of moonlight raised a pure and beautiful flowering tree over Endymion's body.
That tree was called the Demia tree—better known by its other name, the Moonlight Tree.
Unlike most trees that bloom under the sun, this one would only open its blossoms and shine when bathed in beautiful moonlight—hence the nickname.
"Well? Isn't it a wonderful story?"
Whether the legend had truly happened, or whether people had simply invented it after marveling at a tree that glowed on moonlit nights, no one knew. But the girl found the tragic love between goddess and mortal deeply beautiful.
"Yeah. Really wonderful."
It was a lie. The boy hated Endymion's story for its sad ending. He preferred happy endings, and he couldn't understand how the girl could call a tragedy beautiful. Still, she clearly adored the tale, so he chose a suitably agreeable reply.
Satisfied this time, the girl beamed and nodded.
"But why bring up Endymion all of a sudden?"
"Heh. Don't be too shocked—I got a Demia tree seed from the priestess!"
"Oh-ho..."
Because of its peculiar nature, demand for Demia trees far outstripped supply. Even a seed would have been fairly expensive.
And yet the priestess had simply given one away.
The boy was startled by the priestess's generosity—and at last understood why the girl had been so excited all day.
"So today we're planting that seed?"
"Yes! And when the flowers bloom, the two of us will look at them together!"
What made the Demia tree so rare was how long it took to flower. Fully eight years passed before it produced silver buds steeped in moonlight.
Human lives could change overnight—yet the girl spoke of eight long years as if they weighed nothing.
She must have trusted their friendship that completely.
"Well, no reason not to. I've never seen a Demia flower either."
The boy trusted their friendship, too.
Certain that even after eight years nothing between them would change, he accepted the girl's eight-year promise without a second thought.
And eight years passed.
At the end of those long years, a golden-haired young man looked up at the Demia flowers that had finally bloomed.
A cool night wind for spring swept the clouds from the sky, and true to its other name—the Moonlight Tree—the blossoms began to glow with a soft silver light.
"Beautiful."
The flowers that had endured eight years of waiting were as beautiful as a past that would never return.
Entranced, the young man reached out—but he could never quite touch them.
"I'm sorry. This will probably be my last visit."
These flowers were the memory of a pure and beautiful time.
If the man he was now touched them, he would only soil that memory. They had to be left as they were.
"But rest easy. I'll settle your grudge for you."
He laid a spray of white flowers before the Demia tree in tribute to the dead, then turned his back and walked away.
Dessant found his older brother, Dervah von Oblia, hard to bear.
It hadn't always been that way.
When they were children, Dessant had adored Dervah, trailing after him wherever he went—an utterly devoted little brother.
But after a certain incident eight years ago, the bond between them had snapped completely.
"Dervah, you're back?"
"Mother."
Once Dessant had left and Dervah returned, Violette came out to welcome her son home.
"You're early today. Did you see Dessant?"
"Just now, yes. He said he'd come back on some business. What on earth would bring that boy all the way here when he should be studying in Lyceum?"
"Some of the Aegis students came to the capital under the pretext of field training. Dessant's class was one of the ones headed this way."
When Dervah questioned Dessant's presence, Violette briefly explained why her younger son had returned to the royal capital.
"I heard the Flight Knights themselves escorted the Aegis students here. You didn't know?"
"What? They dispatched the Flight Knights just to ferry a handful of students?"
"The Empire's Third Princess enrolled at Aegis, didn't she? Since she was mixed in among the students, the Flight Knights went out to receive them in person."
Ah. So that was why the order had been so restless today.
Dervah nodded as if the explanation settled it.
He rarely paid attention to his surroundings; the mood of the place usually meant nothing to him. Even so, he had noticed how unusually sharp the atmosphere in the knight order had felt today.
If an imperial princess had arrived in the capital under Flight Knight escort, the knights of a kingdom that regarded the Empire as an enemy were bound to be on edge.
"Captain. Today, from Lyceum, the Empire's princess..."
"While on duty, refrain from idle chatter unrelated to work. Or is whatever you were about to say something that must be said right this moment?"
"N-no, sir! Forgive me, Captain!"
So that was why they'd been so noisy.
Now that he understood the reason for his subordinates' agitation, Dervah found it absurd that none of them had thought to report something so important.
If that boy's homeroom instructor is a Sage, this is becoming a real variable.
He had been the one to forbid idle talk—but if this was the topic, it absolutely fell under the category of "something that must be said right this moment."
"Dervah? You look grim. Are you feeling unwell?"
"No. I'm fine. I just remembered I left something behind."
What became of the Empire's princess was none of his concern.
But Aegis coming here—that was not a matter Dervah could afford to take lightly.
"My lady. The bathwater is ready."
"Y-yeah! Got it! I'll wash first!"
C-calm down!
What's so strange about spending the night with Blanc that I'm shaking like this?!
Yeah. It's really nothing.
Friends and family sleep over all the time. Perfectly natural.
Yes! It's nothing at all, so stop trembling!
Thump-thump.
Huh? Why is my heart racing so hard?
M-maybe if I rinse my head with cold water, I'll calm down?
At this rate, I don't think I'll sleep a wink tonight...