TFCF 13📃

Chapter 13

Roland met the children’s eyes, yet his gaze carried no sense of obligation.

With graceful steps, Roland A. Robati approached the table.

Eila stared at him, unable to look away.

His pale blond hair was unlike her sister’s or her brother’s—almost ethereal. His features were perfectly sculpted, like a statue. Though still touched with the softness of youth, there was a promise of a sharper, more masculine presence as he matured.

His frame was already broad and upright, the very image of an unblemished heir to the Empire.

Violet eyes, like clusters of wisteria, turned in her direction.

And Eila realized—

He was looking at her. More intently than when he looked at the other boys.

As if—

As if it were that night again—

Thump!

Her heart jolted violently, far too violently. The edges of her vision darkened.

That face. That night. The chill of the air, the stench of blood, the clawing of her nails against the floor, and the sharp, bitter taste of fear on her tongue all surged back into her senses.

“Lady Eila?”

It was Peroti who noticed first.

Eila’s face had turned chalk white.

Suddenly, it felt as if all the air in her lungs had been yanked away.

“Breathe. I have to breathe.”

She swallowed air desperately, again and again, but her chest refused to move.

Her surroundings blurred. The air thinned. Her lungs swelled as though about to burst, yet no breath came.

Agony.

The sound of rushing waves roared strangely in her ears, her hands and feet tingling.

She couldn’t stand.

Eila collapsed. The world spun, her vision narrowing to a tunnel.

Just like that time.

Just like when her heart was pierced.

Terror consumed her.

“Lady Eila!”

“Is she choking?!”

The voices around her blurred together, until suddenly a pair of hands pressed a paper bag over her mouth.

“It’s all right, Lady Eila. Breathe slowly. Very slowly. There’s no rush.”

Following the calm voice, Eila forced herself to exhale.

Her body still shook uncontrollably.

“Can you hold the bag yourself? Good. Just lightly, that’s it.”

The bag carried a faint, soothing scent. Obediently, she clutched it with trembling hands.

Breathing became easier.

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Blinking them away, she saw the woman who held her steady.

Snow-white hair framed the woman’s face. She looked to be in her fifties—or perhaps older. Or maybe even younger.

“The Sage…”

Eila knew at once who she was.

The Sage raised her head.

“Now, make some room, all of you. Give her space. That’s better. Lady Eila, keep breathing slowly. There’s no need to be afraid. Understood?”

Eila nodded faintly.

She had thought she was fine. That thinking of the Crown Prince no longer mattered. But she had been wrong.

“I was afraid. Just seeing that face again is enough to break me. Of course I was afraid.”

Perhaps it had always been fear. Perhaps her fury and her screams had only been a mask for that terror.

Once she was calm again, the Sage folded the bag neatly and smiled.

“How do you feel now? Are you all right?”

“Yes… thanks to you, I’m all right.”

The Sage studied her face with a gentle smile.

“Good. Then shall we begin the lesson?”

“Yes.”

Eila tried to rise, but Peroti rushed over to help her up.

“Are you truly well, Lady Eila? We could return for today—”

“I’m fine.”

Leaving now, without even hearing the lesson, would feel far worse.

Looking around, she saw worry written on every face.

“…What if they see me as a sickly child now?”

But even then, Roland’s face was nowhere to be found in her sightline. Only at the very edge of her vision could she sense where he sat.

So she raised her voice for everyone to hear:

“This is nothing at all. Thank you for your concern, Lady Peroti.”

“Huh? But—”

Her words sounded, to some ears, like she had suffered far worse before. But Eila herself didn’t realize the implication.

She sat opposite Roland.

The round table had no head seat, but ironically, the farthest place from him was directly across.

At least that way, she could focus only on the Sage, without ever meeting his eyes.

“Let me introduce myself again, since I skipped before.”

The Sage’s white hair was bound in a long braid, a patterned band circling her head, decorated with a feather.

“I am Desawa. It’s an honor to meet you all. Don’t bother with the stiff title ‘Sage’—just call me Desawa. I’ll call you by your names as well.”

The students exchanged glances, then nodded obediently.

Desawa chuckled warmly as she looked around the circle, her eyes crinkling when they landed on Eila.

“Ah. The child touched by the spirits. From the Solalun family, yes?”

Eila’s eyes widened.

“Yes… that’s right.”

“As I thought.”

The words meant little, but every pair of eyes immediately turned to Eila.

Startled, she looked helplessly at Desawa, who seemed to have no intention of explaining further.

The child touched by the spirits.

It was a phrase she hadn’t heard in years.

In Solalun, any child born without the family’s signature golden hair and green eyes was called that.

When she first saw the records, she had been deeply relieved.

“So I’m not the only one born different.”

“The Sage knows that too… well, of course. She is a Sage.”

As she came to terms with it, Desawa spoke again.

“I’ll ask the questions, you’ll give the answers, and together we’ll learn what we do not yet know. For today, pair up and gather fruits from the forest. Any kind will do—the more variety, the better. Let’s go in the order of attendance, shall we?”

From her robes, Desawa drew a sheet of paper.

The names, naturally, were listed in order of rank.

And just beneath the Crown Prince’s name was her own.

Truly, that alone could be called—

“As expected of Solalun.”

Eila buried her face in her hands.

The Fish Ornament

The forest was quiet. Silence carried the small rustles of animals through fallen leaves, and birdsong echoed faintly.

The two of them walked without speaking.

At least the forest made silence feel natural.

“And thank goodness we’re walking side by side. Facing each other would be unbearable.”

Roland’s height was also a blessing. Looking forward meant her gaze landed somewhere below his chin.

“As long as I don’t look at his face, it’s fine. Just don’t look at his face.”

She kept a careful distance, enough that even if she stretched her arm, she wouldn’t touch him.

Just as her tension began to ease, his voice broke the silence.

“What does it mean—‘the child touched by the spirits’?”

Hearing his voice didn’t make her panic. It still bore the timbre of a boy, calm and matter-of-fact.

Pointing to her hair, she answered honestly.

“It means a child whose hair doesn’t match their parents’. That’s all.”

She offered him a faint smile.

“Solalun are supposed to have golden hair and green eyes. But sometimes a child is born like me. When that happens, they call us that.”

The words came out smoother than she expected. Gaining a little confidence, she was unprepared for his next question.

“…Am I so strange?”

“…Pardon?”

“You don’t even try to look at my face.”

There was tension in his voice, something sharp, or perhaps uncertain.

Eila forced out a reply.

“Strange? No… I’m just not feeling well today, that’s all.”

“Truly?”

The voice was suddenly close, and she jumped.

“….”

She couldn’t look at him, but she knew the expression he wore.

Scrambling for an excuse, she blurted:

“I-I have a complex about blond hair.”

“What?”

“Everyone else in my family has blond hair, except me. So… whenever I see blond hair, I just… get upset. That’s why I can’t look at it!”

Roland halted in place.

The excuse was absurd. Still, he didn’t press further.

Because maybe—just maybe—the reason she recoiled from him…

“What if she truly sees my nature? If she’s glimpsed the truth of me—”

He wanted to ask. To pry. But the girl before him wouldn’t even meet his eyes, wouldn’t step close.

Crossing his arms, he stood still until she dared to lift her head slightly—yet still, she refused to meet his gaze.

“The Sage mentioned it so pointedly. And yet all she hides behind is the color of her hair and eyes? Is that really all?”

Perhaps Helen Solalun had forced this little-known third child into the lessons for a reason.

But pressing her now would yield nothing.

Without a word, Roland began walking again.

Eila clutched her chest, quietly relieved, and followed.