The Dreaming Girl, The Slave Whose Dream Ended (Complete)
“Ah... um, c-can I come in?”
Isel wore a flustered expression as Silia, hands clasped behind her back and fingers fidgeting, asked timidly.
Isel hesitated to open her mouth. She was afraid. It was a different kind of fear from what she’d felt toward the torturer or her master—a dread that the rage buried deep in her shredded heart might burst forth. And if it did, the futile hope she’d sealed away with all her might might rear its head again.
That was how vividly the image of Silia fighting Roden lingered in Isel’s mind. The sight of her fighting for her.
That was precisely why it terrified her. How could she let that ember of hope reignite? How painstakingly had she extinguished it? She never wanted to fan it back to life.
Yet the pure black eyes of the little lady gazing at her so earnestly felt like a breeze stirring those dead ashes.
Perhaps the only person in this world who truly believed in her.
Those obsidian eyes blinked, as if pleading for permission to enter, and Isel wavered before stepping aside. She had no choice anyway. Silia was her master’s daughter.
“Ah... y-yes, of course...”
“Heehee, thank you!”
Silia grinned and slipped into the room, closing the door behind her. Father had emphasized “secretly.” It was probably best to keep the hero’s presence in the mansion hidden as much as possible.
“...”
Isel watched Silia’s every move with anxious eyes. There was no hostility, of course. And for all her skill, that tiny frame posed no real threat. But Isel was still uneasy. Fear didn’t always need a blade at the throat.
“...Papa said the Hero is here at the mansion.”
“...”
“First, let me thank you properly.”
“...Pardon?”
Silia bowed deeply with a solemnity hard to believe from a girl just past ten.
“Thank you so much for saving the continent, Hero.”
“...”
Isel’s eyes widened in shock. They’d gleamed with fierce light during her tortures in the underground dungeon, but this was the first time since then they’d opened so wide.
“Papa always says it: We enjoy this peaceful life all thanks to you, Hero.”
“...”
Isel’s exalted eyelids drooped mournfully once more. It had been so long since she’d heard thanks like that—after the betrayal. But it was different now. And futile.
“...Don’t call me that anymore.”
Isel refused the greeting. Was it proper to bow to a traitor?
Silia was the master’s daughter—the lady of the ducal house, equal to her owner. What master in the world thanked their slave? And now, just hearing “hero” made her stomach churn.
Silia tilted her head. “Why? You’re the Hero, so I call you Hero. What else would I call you?”
“...I’m a slave now. Call me Isel.”
“A sl-slave...?”
Silia’s eyes, already huge, grew even wider in surprise.
Isel’s head drooped like a scolded student, her hands clasping naturally in front.
Silence fell. Telling someone who believed in her the truth felt utterly wretched. No, it was the truth.
“Yes. I’m slave Isel now. Please call me that.”
“...No way.”
“Pardon?”
This time, Silia refused, and Isel’s eyes widened again.
Silia let out a soft hum, then beamed innocently. That pure smile made Isel’s heart lurch.
“You’re my eternal idol and the coolest hero ever. Treason? I don’t buy it. There must be some reason. I don’t wanna believe it.”
“...Y-yes?”
In that instant, Isel felt something warm stirring in her chest. But her shattered heart was too fragmented to piece back together easily.
Isel showed a hint of hostility toward Silia, who was shaking her resolve. “I’m a slave. I committed treason and received due punishment. I’m no hero anymore, so please don’t call me that.”
She stated it firmly. Being called a hero now felt like an insult, a mockery. Even if her master was naive to worldly affairs, she couldn’t tolerate that.
Of course, her voice trembled. A slave daring to command her owner.
But Isel hoped this would provoke harsher punishment. Facing Silia stirred foolish expectations, and to crush them, she needed the discipline of a slave.
Yet Silia shouted back firmly. “You didn’t commit treason!”
“...Pardon?”
“I know you didn’t! The Hero came to save the continent—why would you commit treason...? No way...!”
Isel panicked, biting her nails anxiously again. She’d said she wouldn’t believe without hearing it herself, so Isel had told her... But the little lady was stubbornly resolute.
“...N-no, I did. I committed the crime...”
“No! I don’t believe it! You wouldn’t! Hero Emilia wouldn’t do that!”
Silia was nearly throwing a tantrum. But even in those obsidian-black eyes, a faint mist gathered.
Something was wrong. The Hero must be mistaken! To Silia, who dreamed of a radiant female hero, Isel’s false confession was unbearable—like her dream fading, her idol crumbling, her beliefs shattering.
Facing that fear again, Isel instinctively backed away, and Silia advanced step by step.
“Papa said heroes carry out the gods’ missions! A hero wouldn’t sin, and even if they did, it’d be the gods’ will! You did nothing wrong...!”
“...Stop, please stop. I beg you.”
Isel plugged her ears. Her pale green eyes trembled widely, a dull groan escaping her open mouth.
You did nothing wrong!
Those words struck her mind like thunder. And with them, her hellish reality resurfaced.
She’d forgotten. Erased it. The truth that she’d done no wrong yet endured hell—it bloomed anew in her chest.
Silia’s words reignited the quenched rage. Yes, I did nothing wrong.
And Silia’s blind faith left Isel bewildered. Her party betrayed her; nobles and knights alike turned blades on her at the king’s command. No one stood by her.
Yet this naive child professed belief and took her side. Naive, yes—but to Isel, desperate for any faith, that small trust was priceless.
Silia’s tantrum was worth more than gold. But her mind was too chaotic to accept it now.
“Stop, please... Just leave. Please... I’m a slave. I don’t need that faith anymore, please...”
Thud. Backing away, Isel hit the wall. In the tiny room, there was nowhere left to flee.
Silia faltered at her trembling. But she approached. Papa had said the Hero’s heart hurt. He’d help heal it.
“Don’t come closer. Stay back... please... please...”
Like in the dungeon, Isel huddled against the wall, hands over her ears, muttering to block the fear. She didn’t want hope. Feared the unbidden hope demanding more.
Silia couldn’t fully grasp that desperate pathos yet, but she knew one thing: The Hero needed help.
“Don’t come... please... hng... don’t... I’m a slave. Slave, traitor... Isel...”
Silia crept forward like a stray cat and placed something before the sobbing Isel—a small macaron clutched in her hand.
“S-sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry, but... Papa made these. They’re really yummy. Probably the best treat on the whole continent.”
“Hng... hngg...”
“Don’t cry... H-here, eat this. Sweets make you feel better, right? I’ll leave it here.”
A purely innocent, childlike idea. That simplistic notion struck Isel’s broken heart hard.
Silia set down the macaron and turned to leave, pausing at the door to whisper. “Oh, and this macaron’s our secret. Shh. Just between you and me, Hero. So eat up. I’ll come again...!”
Silia gazed at her crumbling idol one last time, then quietly shut the door.
Alone now, Isel sobbed with hands over her ears for a while before wiping her tears and lifting her head.
A small macaron lay at her feet. Not exactly like the ones from modern cafes she’d loved, but similar.
Isel picked it up.
Sniff. A sweet scent filled her lungs as she snorted back tears. Had she ever cried this much? Sobbing over a ten-year-old’s words.
But Silia’s childish, impulsive faith kneaded Isel’s heart enough. No one had ever said such things.
It was the comfort she’d craved so desperately.
Isel bit into the macaron, chewing softly. Nowhere near modern ones, but the finest treat since her isekai summoning.
Sweet cream flooded her mouth with flavor. How long since she’d tasted such sweetness?
Gulp. Half-eaten, it slid down with the rage filling her throat.
And suddenly, the sobs burst forth.
“Hng... It’s so good...”
The sweet macaron drew out the last tears buried deep in her dantian.
She shoved the rest in and buried her face in her knees, weeping bitterly.
But this cry held a different meaning from before.
“Waaah...! I didn’t do it...