Severed Trust
The moment Ludenberg thought that and tried to move, Ashytara grabbed him.
"Ludenberg. We need to talk."
Ludenberg stiffened, turning to face her. Ashytara stared back, her expression etched with unyielding determination.
"I told you last time, I have nothing to say."
"Don't brush me off like that. Tell me what happened."
Ludenberg faced a choice: ignore her and move on, or make it clear he couldn't trust anyone else. He chose the latter. If he kept stringing her along, she'd demand answers all year long—and that was the last thing he wanted. So, slowly, he began to speak.
"After you awakened to Solem's divine power and joined the church, we lost contact."
"Yeah. I was with the Solem Church, learning their doctrines."
Unlike other churches, the Solem Church forbade all outside contact during doctrinal training. That's why, after awakening her power, Ashytara spent a full year deep within the church, immersed in their teachings. It explained why she'd only sent four letters in five years.
"A month later, my baptism ceremony happened. And you know the result."
"...Yeah."
Ashytara hadn't learned that Ludenberg failed to awaken his divine power until a year later. Shocked, she'd tried to see him repeatedly, but they never met.
"After that... well, it was obvious. Without divine power, I was shunned by everyone. For a whole year, all I got was baseless hostility, contempt, and disgust."
Ashytara fell silent at Ludenberg's words, spat out like bitter poison laced with a sneer.
"That's..."
"Even the maids and servants in the ducal household started fearing me. Some quit outright and went to other families. Everyone except my father and mother looked at me with unease."
"..."
"Then the weird rumors started. Even the family knights got caught up in them. After that, I stopped trusting anyone except my parents. And that includes you, Ashytara."
"What?"
"I don't trust you anymore. I don't even consider you a friend."
"What are you talking about...?"
Ashytara's face twisted in genuine shock at his venomous distrust. Ludenberg met her gaze head-on.
"You'll turn your back on me eventually. Just like everyone else."
"Ha."
Ashytara let out a disbelieving laugh. "Did I do something wrong to you? As far as I know, no."
And truthfully, she'd never badmouthed him behind his back like the others—she'd only worried about him. Now, betrayal stung her too. Five years. For five years, she'd longed to see him again, writing heartfelt letters once a year. Whenever Duke Lavante visited the palace, she'd subtly asked about meeting him—over thirty times. She'd gone to the ducal estate dozens of times herself. But Ludenberg never showed. The excuse was always the same: he wasn't feeling well. Ashytara, who knew how robust he was, could only scoff. She'd even considered dragging him out by force, but feared it would ruin their bond forever, so she held back.
That's why she was overjoyed to hear he'd broken his seclusion and enrolled at Solemnute Adem. Sure, the lack of replies to her letters pissed her off, making her a bit cold upon reunion. But deep down, her joy was undeniable—she'd forgive him if he even pretended to be sorry.
Yet here he was, after all her worry: I don't trust you. I don't see you as a friend.
The five years of waiting suddenly felt like worthless scraps of paper, her concern evaporating.
"No. You're right. You did nothing wrong."
"Then why? Why say something so ridiculous!"
Ashytara's voice rose.
"If anyone's at fault, it's me."
"...What?"
Ludenberg murmured like he was talking to himself. "I've just decided not to accept trust or faith anymore. No one's ever stuck by me. To people, I'm a heretic. Even you will turn away soon enough."
He stated it like fact. Deep down, he knew Ashytara wouldn't abandon him easily. But if they grew close again only for her to leave? He couldn't bear that blow—it would shatter him more than any other betrayal. So he was cutting her off first, even spewing nonsense to do it.
Ashytara felt suffocated. What had happened in those five years to twist the pure, upright, kind boy into this?
As her face contorted, Ludenberg continued. "Friendship requires basic trust. But I'm like this now, and I can't ask you to trust me. Nor can I accept the trust you offer. So..."
"...You can't see me as a friend anymore?"
Ashytara said it with resignation, and Ludenberg confirmed.
"Right."
"I see."
Her face twisted in profound hurt as she glared at him—no anger, no sadness, just utter emptiness. Five years of waiting reduced to this void.
"Thanks, Ludenberg."
Her abrupt words confused him. Thanks?
But her next words hardened his expression.
"Really... thank you. For making my five years feel worthless."
Her empty face warped, flooding with rage, sorrow, betrayal, resignation—a storm of emotions as she spoke. "Fine, Ludenberg. I'll do what you want."
Traces of fury lingered in her restrained voice. Unable to look at him longer, she turned and walked away.
Ashytara returned to her dorm, her face a tangle of emotions. Ludenberg's words echoed relentlessly.
I can't accept trust. I can't believe in others anymore. I don't believe in you. I'm the problem.
What had happened to him in those five years?
No.
She shook her head. She didn't need to know. Didn't want to. Chanting that to herself, she tried erasing him from her mind.
For her, those five years were filled with worry and longing to see him again. Now deemed pointless, she writhed in futility.
She didn't want to think of him, but it was hard. They had four years of shared memories—petty joys, and even sorrows, always together.
Before she knew it, Ashytara recalled their first meeting.
When she was born, her mother—Empress Itara Solenute—died from a worsening chronic illness right after delivery. Itara was beloved, respected by all. Some looked at Ashytara with favor, seeing echoes of her mother; others with malice, spreading vile rumors that she'd "eaten" her own mother.
The emperor quashed the lies with threats, but the damage was done—Ashytara was scarred. If her family had showered her with love, she might have grown gently, but they were too busy. Deprived of affection, a deep void formed within her, eroding her confidence. She failed at everything, branded an incompetent princess.
At just eight, under malicious gazes, she shut herself off, refusing to speak.
The emperor, realizing his neglect too late, blamed himself and tried spending time with her. But then a massive erosion opened in the Eastern Erosion Zone—he had to go oversee it personally. No time for her.
That night, hearing the news, Ashytara dreamed of a woman shrouded in black. Terrified by the darkness, she was comforted by the woman's warm embrace and whisper.
"East. Go east. Ashytara. You must go."
Unable to resist the warmth, Ashytara forced open her sealed lips the next day, pleading with the emperor.
"Father. Can I go to the east too?"
He was inwardly thrilled his silent daughter spoke, but her request—to follow to the dangerous east—froze him. He scolded her gently. "It's too dangerous. I can't take you there."
"I promise I won't wander. Please, Father."
Rarely so insistent, she swayed him. Reluctantly, he agreed, and they headed to the Lavante Duchy.
En route, he warned her repeatedly. "You must never leave the ducal estate. Understand?"
"Yes, Father."
Upon arrival, Ashytara sensed the heavy gloom over the entire household. Maids and servants wore dark expressions; knights stared grimly beyond the walls.