Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Another day full of diplomatic discourse, endless questions without answers that could satisfy everyone, petitions, requests, and plans was drawing to a close. Orcs and humans could not come to an agreement regarding the forest in the southwest of the kingdom, even though it was clearly shared, and disturbing news about packs of direwolves arrived from the southern borders. The restoration work in the capital was constantly falling behind schedule, and the halfling guild, led by Chilchuck, had presented a project for an immigration program to Melini, the implementation of which would require an awful lot of funds from the treasury. By the end of the day, it was impossible to think clearly, so Minister Yaad declared these to be problems for tomorrow's king and his advisers, and, after a midnight snack, sent everyone to bed. Marcille and Falin had left earlier, busy with preparations for the upcoming Summer Solstice celebration.

Blessed silence settled in the office adjacent to Kabru's chambers. On the desk, there was a chaotic mess of stacks of books, official papers, scrolls and blueprints—every time Kabru glanced at it, Rin's voice rang in his head, shaming him. Shame wasn't the feeling that was gnawing at Kabru now, though. The chaos was strictly ordered and controlled. He didn't want to look at the table for a different reason.

The sheet of paper that he had solemnly placed in the center of the cleared desk that morning was intimidating in its virginal purity; the gilded royal monograms along the top only emphasized it. The paper was thick, smooth, of an exquisite ivory color—the highest quality. Frankly, he didn't want to sully it. Kabru normally wouldn't trust himself to write on such paper and would delegate the task to the royal scribe or Marcille, whose neatness and elegance of handwriting were beyond reproach. Moreover, he was hesitant to spoil it because he knew it would all be in vain—the letter would never be read, and even if it was, no one would bother to respond. And yet, he couldn't simply not write, and he couldn't use a simpler piece of paper either, because if there was even the slightest chance...

Kabru leaned back in the soft chair and tiredly closed his eyes, trying not to fantasize about something impossible. He had already been deceived once, believing that he was needed. Receiving a cold rejection, not even masked with formal politeness, had been… unpleasant.

The Canary ship had sailed four months ago, but his conversation with Mithrun shortly before its departure had firmly imprinted itself in his memory. Frankly, the conversation had hardly been a conversation at all: Kabru had rambled on, not entirely knowing what he wanted to do or what he wanted to say. And when, after working himself up past the point of composure, he had asked directly if Mithrun wanted him to leave Melini and join him to fulfill his promise, the captain had dryly replied:

"Forget it, you are more needed here."

And indeed, Kabru was needed here, in a kingdom that had risen from the earth, with unstable magic and an unpredictable, though truly glorious, king. The role of the prime minister’s assistant fit Kabru like a glove, far better than being a dungeon conqueror or an involuntary caretaker. But the inability to fulfill his promise weighed heavily on him. That, or the way Mithrun had drawn a line between them.

And yet, it wasn't in Kabru's nature to simply accept this—even if it had taken him four months to admit it. He had burnt out at work, grown weary of waiting, gotten used to the concerned looks of his friends, endured their awkward attempts to have a heart-to-heart (Laios, in particular, had stood out). Finally, he was ready to do something.

Something he hadn't done yet, but he was determined to now.

Kabru firmly wrote “Captain Mithrun” on the clean sheet—and immediately regretted using the title. On the other hand, he couldn't exactly write “Esteemed” either. "Dear Mithrun" sounded even worse. And it certainly wouldn't do to address him simply by his first name, inappropriately closing the distance between them.

“…I don’t know if you’re still a captain—will you tell me?” he wrote below. However, he was asking in vain, since he almost certainly knew the answer. Elves were renowned for their unique sense of time, and things were never decided quickly with them, even when it came to disbanding a squad or a resignation.

“I’m doing fine—there's a lot of work to do, none of which I can share without touching on state affairs.”

Kabru sighed, dissatisfied with the simplicity of his words and the uncertainty of his handwriting. He genuinely felt at a loss when trying to write about himself—his free time consisted of work, food, sleep, and rare meetings with friends. His carefree adventurer life, full of fleeting love affairs between Dungeon excursions, tavern hangouts, and non-confidential funny stories, was behind him. Though, normally, that fact didn't bother him much.

Thoughtfully chewing the end of his quill, Kabru added: “You were right, I am needed here and, it seems, I'm doing well”—and regretted it before he even finished the sentence. It sounded either resentful or boastful. One thing was certain: it felt inappropriate.

“I want to know how you’re doing and how your search for new desires is going—I’m sure you have been working very hard to discover new wants,” he continued, struggling to maintain a friendly-neutral tone and suppressing his burning curiosity.

“I’d be glad if you wrote me at least a couple lines.”

Kabru exhaled with relief, not yet realizing that the hardest part had yet to come. Under the last paragraph, closer to the right edge, he hastily wrote: “Yours”—and froze.

All he had to do was write his name, but Kabru had trapped himself. Of course, he could simply grab another sheet of paper, and the temptation was great. But Kabru suspected that if he did, he would sit up until morning crafting better versions of the letter, all of which were doomed to be unread or forgotten anyway. So, he quickly wrote: “friend, Kabru”—and tried not to look at the words again.

If Mithrun ended up reading these words, perhaps he would laugh at Kabru’s audacity—if he didn’t care, or if he had the arrogance most elves had. But Mithrun, with whom Kabru had spent six days side by side in the Dungeon, was completely different. Despite the many years he's lived, Mithun didn’t think of Kabru as an ignorant child. He listened to his opinions, allowed him to make his own decisions, and, moreover, trusted Kabru to take care of him.

Still, that didn’t guarantee that he would even open the envelope.

“You won’t know unless you try,” Kabru concluded wearily, watching the red wax of the seal melt.

Kabru regretted the stupid, hastily written letter the moment he sent it—but by the end of the second agonizing week of waiting, he was beyond restless. It belatedly dawned on him that if there was no response, he would never know whether the letter had even reached its recipient. And yet, there was a way to find out, right under his nose—any mage, even of mediocre skill, could enchant letters. Falin or Marcille could easily do it, but, in the end…

“Rin, this is a mere trifle for you, right?”

Rin pursed her lips in disdain as she stirred her tea with a teaspoon. Kabru smiled at her encouragingly.

“I mastered the simplest signaling spell when I was ten,” she shrugged. “I can modify it to track who opens the envelope, but even then, it’s nothing complicated.”

“I never doubted you for a moment,” Kabru grinned widely and then slapped the envelope on the table.

“Will you do me a favor?”

Rin cast a sharp glance at the envelope, not missing a single detail: the deep burgundy wax seal, the thick envelope with a crumpled edge, the absence of a signature. She tapped it demandingly with the tip of her finger.

“More importantly, who are you writing to? That's the royal crest, but if this were official business, any of the court mages—”

“Yes, it’s personal correspondence. I used the seal for importance so that it would be delivered faster.”

“Kabru, to whom?” she repeated almost threateningly.

“And if I don’t tell you, will you refuse to help?”

Kabru knew she would not refuse—even if she found out he was writing to the captain of the Canaries. An elf, a race Rin disliked and distrusted with good reason. She wouldn’t refuse, but she would certainly try to talk him out of it.

Maybe, deep down, Kabru was cowardly hoping for that.

“I can’t modify the spell unless I know, you idiot.”

Obviously. He should have figured it out himself, but his mind had been preoccupied with empty doubts.

“You’re also curious,” Kabru winked at her with all his charm, trying to win her over in advance.

“Don’t flatter yourself, and don’t try to butter me up. Do you need my help or not?”

Kabru covered the envelope with his damp palm—he suddenly felt hot. Not knowing why he was so nervous, he blurted out:

“It’s for Captain Mithrun.”

As if he were confessing something shameful or too personal, though there was nothing special about a simple letter. And who else but Rin, with whom he had grown up and gone through fire and water, could he tell absolutely everything?

“The captain of the Canaries… I see,” she said with distaste, but without the slightest surprise. And, despite Kabru’s readiness to defend his right to write to anyone, even an elf, she simply said: “Give it here.”

Kabru obediently pulled his hand away from the letter. The spell was cast almost insultingly fast: no intricate runes, no special meditation, no cryptic incantations. Just a couple of words, a cold glow, and a distinct smell of pine.

“Done,” Rin said indifferently, lifting her hand from the envelope. “As soon as it’s opened, an emerald-colored mark will appear on your wrist. Of course, if the intended recipient is the one who opens it.”

“You’re the best,” Kabru said with a gentle smile as he tucked the letter into his inner pocket, right next to his heart. “I thought you’d try to talk me out of it.”

“You already know what I think about this. But you're going to do what you want anyway, and…”

She suddenly looked away, hesitating. Kabru exhaled in confusion:

“What?”

“I’d be surprised if you did nothing,” she said, with a barely perceptible smile. “That wouldn't be like you.”

Kabru could have disagreed with her—he never pursued people who didn’t want to talk to him (unless, of course, the fate of the world depended on it). And he had told almost no one about those six days spent with Mithrun in the Dungeon, not even Rin, as if he were keeping those memories—filled with nightmarish monster meals, strange adventures, and awkward care—just for himself. And yet, had she noticed his… attachment?

“Besides, there’s nothing to worry about—he won’t reply anyway.”

“Hey, that’s too cruel!” Kabru protested, then burst out laughing.

Now, with the spell in place and Rin’s support, he had a feeling—he would get a response after all.

Chapter Text

“Ah, I’d love to try some barometz someday,” Falin sighed dreamily.

Kabru groaned internally—the discussion about the menu for the Summer Solstice feast had entered its second round. Just when he thought everything had been decided and freedom was within reach, they began discussing monsters. What could be worse?

“We should add some appetizers,” Laios mused. “Bruschetta with braised barometz would be a nice touch…”

The answer was obvious: the only thing worse than discussing monsters would be including them in the menu.

“…But barometz dishes are off the table,” Laios continued with undisguised regret. “We can’t stock up on them in advance, they spoil too quickly. And magic would ruin the flavor.”

“Let’s just use regular crabs,” Kabru interjected reluctantly, afraid that it would be too late if he didn't speak up. Marcille’s grateful look warmed his heart. “Fishing has already been established on the Western Coast and even in the capital’s harbor, and the supply is plentiful.”

The local market was already overflowing with seafood, especially crabs. The sailors from Kahka Brud, who had lost their jobs due to the shrinking coastline and the new land border with Melini, hadn’t wasted any time. They quickly realized that the people of the Golden Country had long abandoned the fishing trade since there was no sea in the Dungeon—and so they moved in to fill the gap. Which, of course, wasn’t a bad thing at all. On the contrary, the still fragile, newly forming economy of the old-new state desperately needed food supplies.

“Won’t excessive fishing disrupt the whole ecosystem?” Laios frowned.

“On the contrary, there are too many crabs now,” Kabru assured, recalling the numerous salt-scented reports that landed on his desk every Thursday. “The sailors are already complaining that there’s less fish.”

“It's settled then!” Laios clapped the table cheerfully. Kabru felt a surge of hope, quickly replaced by despair. “But what about the main courses? Won't this be too boring? If only Senshi were here! But he and Izutsumi won’t be back from their journey until the festival….”

Kabru sighed in frustration—truthfully, he had long wanted to be away from here. Today, he had planned to finally send the letter enchanted by Rin through the established channel, and for that, he needed to leave the castle no later than nine in the evening. Three weeks had passed, and waiting for a response to the first letter had become simply foolish. He needed to be persistent—and this time, he was armed with a spell.

After all, Kabru was no stranger to winning over someone’s interest—Laios, too, had once given him no chance to even start a conversation, and now look how things have turned out. However, the situation with Mithrun was entirely different. He…

”…Kabru, what do you think? Huh? Kaaabruuu…”

Kabru jolted, realizing that he had completely drifted into his thoughts and tuned out the conversation. Judging by the lack of panic in Marcille’s gaze, nothing too terrible had been suggested in the meantime—but blindly agreeing wasn’t a good idea either. Besides, he was sick of discussing food. At this moment, his patience ran dry, and Kabru said:

“I think it’s time to wrap this up. It’s getting late, the menu is set—at worst we can continue tomorrow and make adjustments. Okay?”

The expressions on everyone’s faces suddenly changed at the same moment. Laios and Falin stared at him as if he were a shape-shifter, Marcille gasped and suddenly blushed, while Yaad chuckled knowingly and stroked his beard. One didn’t need to be especially perceptive to understand what each of them was thinking: yes, this was the first time Kabru himself had suggested stopping work, when normally they had to drag him to bed and pry work papers from his hands. But those had been urgent, truly important matters—unlike this feast menu! Kabru wanted to argue, but no one made any comments.

Although… perhaps, just a little, his impatience was connected to his desire to send the letter with the spell tonight.

“It's decided, we’re done for the night,” Laios agreed obediently.

Kabru barely resisted the urge to jump up immediately and dash out of the hall like a bullet. Instead, he gave a satisfied nod and left at a deliberately unhurried pace under their scrutinizing gazes.

“Let them think whatever they want,” he decided, quickening his step to grab the letter from his quarters, throw on an inconspicuous cloak, and set out.

But his plans were not meant to come to fruition—there was a surprise waiting for him in his office.

At first, Kabru thought it was just an ordinary bird tapping at the window, but upon closer inspection, he recognized a familiar. Shaped like a lark, but crudely sculpted from clay with little care, angular and strange. It was trying to break through the glass like a madman—despite the fact that the window just above it was slightly open.

Kabru’s breath suddenly caught, and he pressed a hand to his chest in surprise, feeling his heart race. Somehow, he already knew exactly whose familiar this was—just as spatially challenged as its creator.

Kabru struggled with the stubborn latch, his fingers trembling and uncooperative. Any moment now, the familiar might forget its task and fly away—or smash itself into a pancake on the thick glass. He had to make an effort, even injuring himself in the process when the mechanism suddenly gave way, pinching his fingers. But at last, he managed to swing the window open.

The bird immediately shot into the office, circled three times around the perimeter, and landed directly on the only empty spot on the desk.

Its gaze—black and distinctly un-birdlike—seemed reproachful to Kabru, eerily reminiscent of Rin’s.

“Do you… talk?”

The bird stared at him with even greater disappointment before turning sideways, finally revealing the small scroll case strapped to its back.

Kabru sighed, cautiously reaching out, but the bird remained still, allowing him to carefully extract the message.

The note was small but carefully folded, written on thin, slightly bluish paper. Kabru remembered learning to write on the same kind of paper as a child, back when he lived with Milsiril.

There were very few words. Even without the signature, the dry, careless handwriting alone would have told Kabru who it was from:

"Hello, Kabru.

I’m doing fine. Glad to hear you are too. Here are a couple lines—is that enough?

No-Longer-Captain Mithrun.

P.S. I usually use fairies, not familiars, so this one turned out a bit odd. I hope it finds its way to you.”

Mithrun's hopes had been justified—the letter had, against all odds, reached Kabru’s hands, though it had certainly had every chance of getting lost. Why take such a risk when he could have just sent it through ordinary mail? Kabru didn’t understand, but it was exactly the kind of thing the captain would do. He often chose the reckless path over the safe one—and succeeded.

As soon as Kabru allowed himself that thought, he heard a wet pop from the direction of the desk. Kabru tensed instantly, but he wasn’t quick enough to dodge. Something warm and slimy landed on his cheek.

Where the familiar had once sat, a wispy cloud of grayish smoke now curled, and the numerous folders, papers, and books on the desk were splattered with what little remained of it.

“I should have seen that coming,” Kabru muttered resignedly, tucking the note carefully into his pocket.

He wouldn’t be able to write a reply until he cleaned up the mess and ensured that none of the important documents had been ruined.

Maybe that was for the best—it would give him time to collect his thoughts before drafting his response. Or at least, he could try.

****

Being woken up wasn’t the most pleasant experience—but it wasn’t the worst either. (After all, he had been resurrected multiple times in the Dungeon, which could technically be counted as being woken up.)

Marcille was the one shaking him awake where he had fallen asleep right at his desk.

“Hey, Kabru, you already missed breakfast…”

Worse than that, Kabru had missed the chance to sleep properly in his own bed and had earned himself a stiff neck. Not to mention, his right arm—on which he had been lying for what felt like at least three hours—threatened to go completely numb, and his head pounded as if he were about to transform under the influence of changeling spores.

“Thanks for waking me up,” Kabru rasped out, barely coherent as he stretched with a groan. “Ugh… I need coffee.”

Marcille was unimpressed by his suffering and instead took on a strict expression, placing her hands on her hips.

“So, you sent all of us to bed, but stayed up all night in your office?”

“No, no, I wasn’t working, I swear!”

Marcille waved off his protest, unconvinced.

“I actually thought that you were sneaking off to a date last night, and that's why you ran off early. But no—you were working! That is just like you. Everything except the cleaning, of course.”

She had him there. His desk was unusually empty and gleaming—every book that had gathered dust for months had been returned to the bookshelf, important documents had been neatly filed, and useless drafts had been burned.

The reason for this rare bout of tidiness was still tucked safely in his chest pocket.

Kabru hoped it hadn't just been some cruelly realistic dream—after all, Nightmares didn’t exist in the capital, nor did other monsters.

“No, I… I was just cleaning, I swear. It just kind of happened,” Kabru assured her. Then, jokingly indignant, he added, “And anyway, where’s my gratitude for stopping that discussion about monster cuisine from dragging on for another two hours?”

“I am eternally grateful,” Marcille snorted.

Kabru knew there was more sincerity than sarcasm in her words.

They had always seen eye to eye in their shared dislike of monsters and distrust of elves. After the Dungeon collapsed, he and Marcille had quickly gotten along—even to the point where he hadn’t needed to apologize for attempting to kill chimera-Falin (Marcille had just told him to shut up and never bring it up again).

Once, he had even helped her braid her hair while Falin was away on a two-day trip with Namari and the Flokes. He had learned the hard way that it was far more difficult than it looked.

“You still have time, but you should hurry up. I’ll have them bring you coffee and something to eat—go wash up, at least.”

“Not ‘have them bring’—order them to,” Kabru corrected her automatically, rubbing his groggy face. “Thanks, Lady Court Mage.”

Marcille only giggled before leaving the office.

Kabru immediately pulled the note from his pocket—it was still there, containing the same sparse but heartwarming words.

He barely remembered writing a response last night, but when he looked under the desk, he found the familiar monogrammed stationery, covered in hurried yet even lines of writing.

Fortunately, he must have knocked it onto the floor while sleeping, keeping it from getting creased—and from Marcille’s curious gaze.

Kabru surveyed his now remarkably neat office and silently praised himself for having thrown the familiar’s remains into the kitchen waste the night before. If he hadn’t, Marcille would definitely have noticed, if only by the smell.

After all, she knew magic and could create familiars herself—he had heard the story from Senshi. In the end, they had eaten those familiars, and Marcille still reminded Laios about it from time to time. He had no desire to traumatize the sensitive elf any further.

“I need to get moving,” Kabru muttered decisively, feeling sensation slowly returning to his right arm. It prickled like a thousand needles, but that didn’t stop him from giving his cheeks a brisk slap. “Wash up, change clothes—and coffee!”

The letter, retrieved from the floor and temporarily tucked into his desk drawer, read:

"No-Longer-Captain Mithrun,

Please, let’s use couriers, the old-fashioned way. The familiar reached me and didn’t even break the window (though it tried), but after it…self-destructed, I had to spend three hours cleaning my office. Fortunately, I managed to save all the important documents.

Thank you for the message, but I would still like to hear more. For example—how many of the new things from your squad’s list have you managed to try?

By the way, this letter will be enchanted to make sure it falls into your hands. I thought I wouldn’t get a response to the first one or ever learn why… I'm glad to be wrong.

Your friend,

Kabru”

Chapter Text

Fortunately or not, there was no time to think about the letter or create a new, more refined version. Work consumed Kabru along with all his worries and naïve hopes, like a ravenous carnivorous beast—a building in the northern capital district had collapsed, a structure that the hired dwarves had begun restoring just a week ago. Part of the crew was injured; two were in critical condition until they received treatment from Falin.

That morning, he didn't even get to finish his sandwich before Lord Yaad burst into his chambers and dragged him off to an emergency meeting. And then everything started spinning so fast that it was a miracle Kabru even managed to shove the letter into the hands of the royal courier heading to the Western Continent. A spell was out of the question—if he hadn’t overstepped his authority by sending personal correspondence through the royal mail, he wouldn’t have found another opportunity for at least a week, even if he had remembered such a trivial thing.

Of course, the letter to the captain was far from trivial, but compared to matters of state, the lives of people, and the fate of the kingdom, Kabru's personal affairs always lost their weight. That’s how it had always been and how it would remain, even if—

“This isn’t normal. You need to sleep at some point.”

Even if his king kept reminding him of the importance of healthy rest (probably so he could get some himself, though this time, at least, Kabru wasn’t the one keeping him up).

“I do sleep, not much less than normal,” Kabru waved him off, continuing to extract details from the dwarves’ written reports to piece together the full picture. “We need to sort this out quickly. Something doesn’t sit right with me.”

Laios sighed and leaned heavily on the desk, resting his cheek in his palm. He had dragged a chair over, as if intending to fall asleep in it, setting an example—he looked just as exhausted and worn out as everyone else in the palace.

“We’ve already treated all the injured, allocated funds for compensation, and revised the renovation plans. What else is so urgent?”

Laios was both right and wrong: Kabru's instincts told him this incident wasn’t as simple as it appeared. If he only looked at the paperwork—a pile of statements from every worker, tangled blueprints and measurements of the collapsed structure, eyewitness accounts (surprisingly, a couple of people had been around despite the area not being residential)—everything seemed straightforward. An accident caused by underestimating the deterioration of a building hidden underground for centuries.

But Kabru didn’t like how his conversation with the foreman, Thorn, had gone—he was far too nervous for someone who had spent decades working at dangerous sites.

And of course, this was the city guard’s jurisdiction. Fortunately, the Golden Country still had professionals willing to return to service, and even some former adventurers had found new purpose. But beyond his sense of duty, curiosity gnawed at Kabru. It was that curiosity that led him to attend Thorn’s second interrogation, where he caught the man’s oddities. Thorn seemed barely concerned about compensation or his injured workers’ well-being. Instead, he fixated on technical details no one else quite grasped, and he kept fidgeting with his beard, furrowing his brows, and adjusting his clothes.

And then, as Laios correctly noted, even after they had ruled in favor of the dwarves and prepared to pay reparations, Thorn suddenly insisted that the work must resume immediately.

“You’re ignoring me,” Laios said, hurt. “Your king.”

Kabru looked up from the scrawled pages to see Laios giving him a pitiful frown before adding:

“Your friend.”

“Ah,” Kabru sighed in feigned irritation, dropping his quill. “That’s a dirty move.”

It really was. At one point, Kabru—full of suspicions, curiosity, and a bad gut feeling—couldn’t have imagined becoming Laios’s friend. Though, he had very much wanted to get into his inner circle to finally uncover the truth. But after an incredible adventure, a near-apocalypse miraculously averted, and, in the end, a shared goal had truly made them friends.

“Fine, a ten minute break. What do you want? I know you don’t actually care what I’m working on, so let’s get to the point.”

Lord Yaad would have scolded him for speaking so casually to the king, but Yaad wasn’t here. And Laios had barged into his office at an indecently late hour without an invitation, which was hardly proper for a ruler.

“As perceptive as ever,” Laios smirked. “There’s a question that’s been bothering me for weeks now…”

“And what’s that?” Kabru asked, already suspecting he didn’t want to hear the answer. Laios’s face looked far too suspicious—almost… expectant? And that never led to anything good.

“How do you know what barometz tastes like?”

It only took a moment for Kabru to realize where he’d slipped up—he had been in such a rush that evening to send his letter (only to receive a reply, a familiar, and an excuse for a spring cleaning) that he had given himself away completely.

Laios’s face lit up before Kabru could suppress the traumatic memory and muster a response.

“You’ve eaten it! Tell me everything!”

“The captain and I needed something to eat,” Kabru grimaced, knowing full well that the answer wouldn’t satisfy Laios. He still tried: “There's nothing to tell.”

Lies. There was plenty to tell—about the formidable elf that ended up being full of surprises, who didn't punish Kabru for interfering with the Mad Mage’s capture but instead trusted him with his life and his secrets. Who had supported Kabru's reckless decision to follow Laios when he could have easily stopped him.

“I’ve always wanted to hear this story. Come on, Kabru!"

So Kabru told him—about how he and the Canaries had fought giant walking mushrooms, nearly defeated the Mad Mage and chimera-Falin, fell to a lower level with just the captain, encountered a shapeshifter, roasted a mushroom, stumbled upon Laios’s team’s belongings, fought a griffin together, survived the changeling circle, met a Dullahan and his horse… Somewhere around the part about a griffin egg sandwich, Kabru opened a bottle of wine Holm had given him.

“Funny how we were following you the whole time,” Laios chuckled. “And now I get why the Dullahan was out for revenge. And without his horse, no less…”

“Yeah,” Kabru grinned, pouring more wine. “Thanks to the captain, we survived—teleportation magic is very effective in the Dungeon. You guys must have had a harder time.”

“Maybe, but there were five of us. And by the way, you still haven’t told me about the barometz.”

Kabru wasn’t sure if he had skipped over that part by accident or on purpose—he had wanted to feed the captain something good and had decided to try recreating his favorite childhood dish. It was one of the few things he remembered about his mother.

“We stole it from under the noses of a dire wolf pack,” Kabru admitted. “I tried to make a stew, but it turned out terrible.”

Laios hummed knowingly. “Yeah, barometz stew is a bad idea. The meat’s too mild, and it loses its texture with prolonged cooking.”

“How was I supposed to know?!” Kabru threw up his hands. He still remembered the strange texture of the dish and how Mithrun had taken the first bite without hesitation. “It's not like I had much choice—it was practically my first time cooking, we had no spices, and we barely had any utensils to work with.”

“And the captain of the Canaries actually ate that?” Laios asked, incredulously.

“Surprisingly, yeah.”

Laios’s doubt was understandable—Kabru himself still didn't understand how Mithrun hadn't killed him on the spot when he found a piece of disgusting walking mushroom—reeking of campfire—pushed in his face.

"For someone who could hardly feel any desire to eat, he was surprisingly obedient," Kabru continued with a smile. "He ate everything I offered him."

Laios grinned. “Maybe it was because of you?” Judging by his flushed cheeks—and his words—it was probably time to stop drinking.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know how to win people over. Everyone says so."

Kabru couldn’t help but recall those first days, when he had desperately tried to impress the captain—or more accurately, to worm his way into his good graces and make himself useful, hoping to avoid punishment for his audacity. At the time, it had seemed like none of his tricks worked on Mithrun—not warm smiles, gestures of care, or even flattery. Mithrun didn’t care about anything, and yet… he never treated Kabru the way elves usually treated short-lived races. From the very beginning, he had relied on Kabru's knowledge and strengths, and in the end, he had entrusted him with the fate of the entire world.

Sometimes, Kabru would remember how Mithrun had attacked him with his fists when Kabru had fallen into despair, how he had taken his outstretched hand, how he had smiled through his tears. And he would arrogantly let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—the captain had actually cared about him.

"If that were true..." Kabru hesitated, suddenly realizing his words were starting to slur—he was just as drunk as Laios. Ah, shit. “If I had meant anything to him, he wouldn’t have... sailed away. Or he would have written to me first, and not just a measly forty words!”

Frustrated, Kabru slammed his hand on the table, almost breaking his glass. Laios, drunkenly carefree, burst into laughter:

"You're exchanging letters, and you counted the number of words!"

Kabru laughed too, feeling both pathetic and strangely bold—admitting his own foolishness to a friend turned out to be cathartic. Maybe it only felt that way now, and tomorrow he’d regret it, but…

"We were worried about you after the Canaries set sail," Laios suddenly said. "You were upset, even though you tried not to show it, and you buried yourself in work…"

"Don’t exaggerate," Kabru waved him off. Knowing that people cared about him warmed his heart, but it hadn’t been that bad.

"But I’m glad things are better now. And that you two are in touch."

Laios gave him a goofy salute with his now empty glass. Kabru thought to himself that he was also very, very glad.

"Anyway," Laios suddenly continued, "send him my regards. We were all sorry when Captain Mithrun left Melini."

Strangely enough, that was the absolute truth. Even though no one had much time for socializing or getting to know each other after the fall of the Dungeon, Mithrun had managed to do a lot of good. He helped with butchering the chimera and with Falin's resurrection itself (Kabru dreaded to think what might have happened if that task had fallen to anyone other than professional elven healers). Surprisingly, Mithrun was the one who never doubted the success of Laios’s plan. Back then, he had said, “If she wants to live, then I’m sure that’s what will happen,” and Laios had returned to those words more than once when recounting the story to new listeners.

Later, Mithrun helped clear the largest debris and even got Otta and Lycion involved. He also assisted Falin in mastering teleportation magic, which she struggled with—even though it had once saved Laios’s team from a red dragon. At times, the captain could be seen in the company of Chilchuck and Senshi, though Kabru had no idea what they could possibly talk about. He liked to imagine that the three of them simply sat together in silence, exhausted from all the chaos.

It was strange how the aloof and seemingly indifferent Mithrun had managed to get along with everyone and become important not just to Kabru. And then he sailed away. Kabru hated thinking about it because he despised feeling like an abandoned, sulky child—and yet, every time he drank too much and let his guard down, the sadness and resentment washed over him.

With exaggerated cheerfulness, he declared:

"You know, if we keep this up, Marcille is going to give us hell in the morning."

"And Yaad will accuse us of sabotaging the work schedule," Laios giggled drunkenly, fumbling with the ties of his shirt to pull the sleeve down. "We should probably call it a night…"

A siren suddenly blared in Kabru's mind—that was it!

He leapt up, nearly knocking over his chair, and rushed to the bookshelf filled with books he had been allowed to take from the castle library. At last, he had caught hold of a clue, a visual image that had been eluding him all this time! The tattoo on the foreman’s wrist wasn’t particularly striking—just a black mark resembling a circle flattened in the middle, or perhaps a keyhole. But there had to be a reason why Thorn had so hastily pulled down his sleeve the moment Kabru’s gaze lingered on it. Maybe if he could figure out what that symbol meant…

"Oh no, another workaholic episode," came a reproachful voice behind him.

Struggling to focus on the drunkenly shifting titles on the book spines, Kabru muttered:

"Go to bed, Your Majesty. Otherwise, Marcille really will kill us both—better to let it be just me.”

Chapter Text

Surprisingly, after the initial moment of insight and realizing which direction to look in, there was no progress on the investigation of Thorn’s team. Kabru couldn’t find a similar symbol in any book, and his inquiries to Falin, Marcille, and Mr. Tansu, who could have encountered it while studying magic, yielded no results either. Kabru even wrote to Senshi, thinking the symbol might be something he had come across after many years of wandering the Dungeon, but he hadn't received a reply yet.

No one from his former team could help either. Rin even scolded him for his relentless curiosity and the risk he was undertaking. Kabru only rolled his eyes in response. He was obviously in much greater danger just by serving under the recently ascended king. Not to mention Rin herself, who had become a mage of Melini’s Royal Dungeon Investigation Unit and had already been on several expeditions. But saying this to the anxious and impressionable Rin would have been like signing his own death sentence, so Kabru merely promised to be careful.

Kabru was being careful, but only to a degree. He set up surveillance on Thorn and his apprentices, instructed the city guard to reexamine the untouched rubble of the collapsed building, and visited the injured dwarves with a basket of fruit supposedly from the king, but he couldn’t get any information from them nor see their wrists. Their secrecy only strengthened Kabru’s conviction that something was off.

However, the official investigation had concluded, the construction team was compensated, and in a week, they would resume work in the northern district. If it had been up to Kabru, he would have suspended them for at least a month, even without evidence. His intuition, which he had learned to trust, screamed that something wasn’t right. But there was no formal cause he could present to justify a suspension, and all the similarly skilled builders were tied up with other projects. Furthermore, delaying the restoration any longer wasn’t an option—they wanted to complete the first phase before the frost set in.

Kabru was distracted from these heavy thoughts by a gentle knock. He quickly closed the book on dwarven runes, in which he had been fruitlessly searching for anything remotely similar, and shoved it into a drawer. From the volume of the knock and the fact that the door didn’t open immediately, he already knew it was Falin.

"Come in!"

Unexpectedly, Falin wasn’t alone: an agitated Marcille pushed her way into the office ahead of her. She looked very, very suspicious—and even more so as she arrived at his desk and stood there silently with a shameless smirk plastered on her face. Kabru stared at Falin, confused, but she only awkwardly scratched her perpetually rosy cheek.

"So, what happened?" he broke the silence.

Falin just shook her head, and Marcille grinned even wider. Kabru knew that this wasn’t about work, but he still tried:

"Is there a new development with the collapsed building?"

"You’re obsessed with that, aren’t you?" Marcille couldn’t hold back. "Forget about it! Even Yaad told you to calm down!"

"Yes, yes, I was just asking," Kabru waved his hand. "Can I help you with something, then?"

Marcille shot a laughing glance at Falin, and that didn’t sit well with Kabru at all. Falin said:

"A messenger brought a letter for you, but due to an urgent summons from the higher-ups, he asked me to pass it on. Here."

The envelope was made from thick emerald-colored paper, so clearly elvish that it was unnecessary to even look inside or search for a signature to confirm it. Kabru made a mental note to convince the royal post office of the importance of delivering correspondence personally to the recipient for confidentiality’s sake. Perhaps he’d even write this into their official regulations if it wasn’t already there.

"Probably from my adoptive mother," Kabru sighed. "Though she usually prefers more pastel colors..."

"Wrong!" Marcille suddenly giggled. "It’s not from her at all!"

Kabru raised his eyebrows in surprise, and Falin had to explain:

"Of course, we didn’t open it. But we noticed that the letter wasn’t ordinary and decided to check if it was dangerous. It turned out to be just a signaling spell."

"And I couldn’t help but recognize Captain Mithrun’s magic!" Marcille finished triumphantly. "How wonderful, he wrote to you himself!"

Kabru gathered all his remaining composure to prevent himself from grabbing the letter from Falin’s hands and dancing with joy—even though, to be honest, he really wanted to. Due to his busy schedule, Kabru hadn’t had the chance to torment himself as he had last time, and the reply had come surprisingly quickly, making this pleasant surprise even more thrilling.

"Take it. And forgive us for interfering," Falin said quietly.

Her cheeks reddened even more, as if she felt awkward on behalf of Marcille as well, who wasn’t the least bit embarrassed. Rather, she was burning with curiosity, and if there had been the slightest hint that Kabru wouldn’t refuse, she would have asked him to read the letter aloud. Marcille was quite the nosy fox when it came to other people’s relationships of any kind, and Kabru found it both charming and dangerous.

"It’s alright, thank you both for your concern," Kabru said with a sincere smile as he took the envelope. He was in too good a mood to grumble at Marcille, even if he had been drowning in melancholy just five minutes ago.

"The envelope," Marcille suddenly said, "is really beautiful. My mom used to write love letters to my father on paper like this."

Kabru awkwardly chuckled, running his fingertips over the silky paper. Oh, if only they had seen the scrap of paper he had received his first letter on! And how long he had spent scrubbing the office afterward…

"You must be dying to read it," Falin said, putting an arm around Marcille’s shoulders to gently lead her out of the office. Kabru was immensely grateful to her. "We’ll see you at dinner, Kabru."

"See you tonight!" Marcille almost threatened before the door closed behind them.

Something told Kabru that Marcille would be burning him with a curious gaze at dinner. Still, it was a small price to pay for a letter from the captain.

In fact, it didn’t bother him much, unlike how heavy and important the envelope seemed. And how clean, yet hurried, the lines were written:

"Kabru,

Do not consult those useless mages anymore: there was no spell on the letter. Just place one of the seals I prepared into the next envelope. A simple touch and my name spoken aloud will suffice to activate it."

The letter delivered today was puffed up precisely because of the five rectangular sheets inside, covered in elvish script. Even without knowing magic, Kabru could feel the energy emanating from them, and for some reason, warmth.

What especially touched him was that there was not just one seal—it felt like a promise.

"By the way, I’m surprised at how quickly the letter was delivered to me. I suppose it’s actually better this way than using a familiar. And safer, as I understand it. Sorry."

Kabru involuntarily laughed, imagining how Mithrun would have said that "sorry" with a stony face. He had done this before—done something crazy and then casually tossed out an apology, only to do the same thing again later: teleport them God-knows-where or collapse from mana exhaustion.

"You’re still too inquisitive, and this time you’re prying into my affairs. Well, this month I’m taking lessons in noodle making from a famous elven chef. Not that I particularly enjoy it, but it’s more interesting than macramé or calligraphy."

Mithrun surely had no trouble with calligraphy: his handwriting was very neat and clear, letter by letter — and yet subtly elegant, as befitting an aristocrat. However, the words were simple, dry, without any empty politeness mixed with the arrogance typical of high-born elves. At the same time, they were not devoid of restrained but easily readable emotions — just like Mithrun himself, whose mood Kabru had learned to understand from the slightest change in his expression. Or at least, he liked to think he understood.

Kabru had only a vague idea of what macramé was, but he definitely wanted to see the captain forcefully rolling out dense white dough.

"Last month I was in a pottery workshop, and before that, I took drawing lessons. It was quite a calming activity—almost like butchering a bicorn."

Kabru giggled like an idiot, surprised by the comparison. For some reason, it didn’t repulse him like it usually did when the topic was monsters.

"The list now has more items than I’d like—Fleki and Lycion are adding in all sorts of nonsense. But if you have any ideas, write to me. We’ll see what I can do with it."

Kabru’s only thought was a hollow regret that he couldn’t be by his side for all these pursuits.

At the very bottom, under the neat rows of flowing text, it said:

"Your friend, Mithrun."

"I can’t believe it," Kabru muttered, running his fingertip over those simple yet affirming words, confirming his right to be greedy.

Chapter Text

Kabru sent his letter that same day. This also stemmed from greed: he wanted to receive a response as quickly as possible. He also included a drawing of the symbol, the meaning of which he never managed to find on his own. After all, it cost him nothing.

Eight days later, a canary began to shine on Kabru’s palm. At first, he felt a slight tickle, and then an elegant bird design appeared on his skin. It stayed with him for a full day, probably to ensure that the sender of the letter would see the signal. At first, this had caused Kabru some grief, as he had to keep his left hand in his pocket all day to avoid questions from the curious Marcille, but the next morning his palm felt too empty.

Thorn’s team had already returned to work, starting with clearing away the rubble. Kabru planned to stop by later for an inspection, but he didn't have high hopes, almost certain that his intuition had failed him this time. There were two weeks left until the Summer Solstice celebration, and he had to focus his efforts on that now. Soon, ambassadors and high-ranking guests would arrive at the Golden Castle, and merchants would come to the capital where a fair would be held in the town square. They needed to not only accommodate and appease all the guests but also ensure their safety. If something were to happen on the eve of the festival or during… Kabru did not want to imagine the consequences they would face.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” a quiet, indifferent voice said.

Kabru looked up in surprise.

“Am I disturbing you?”

Thistle didn’t answer, but Kabru noticed his shoulders twitch slightly, as if he were about to shrug but decided at the last moment not to spare the effort. Even small actions were still difficult for him, and speaking to anyone besides Lord Yaad was even rarer—the times Kabru had heard his voice could be counted on the fingers of one hand.

“I’ll try to think more quietly,” Kabru assured him with a smile.

It had only been six months, but Thistle was showing progress under the careful eye of a caretaker and Yaad, whom he still called Delgal. He ate regularly, slept often, and even read books. He especially liked fairy tales, but Kabru was sure it wasn’t because of their deceptive simplicity. Sometimes Kabru got the feeling Thistle understood everything perfectly—there was so much transparent melancholy in his eyes.

Now, Thistle was sitting with his feet up on the windowsill of Kabru’s office, staring intently into the distance. The first heat of summer had descended upon the land, so the window shutters were wide open, and Falin had cast an invisible barrier for protection. Only a slightly cool, lively breeze and sounds from the inner courtyard could penetrate the office—however, in this midday heat, there was a lull in the air.

Sometimes, Kabru wished his chambers were in the western wing—the windows there overlooked the harbor, and with magical binoculars, he could even see ships docking. However, it was probably for the best: it was terrifying to imagine how much time he might have wasted, staring at the horizon and wishing to see a ship with a bird on its prow.

“News will arrive soon,” Thistle spoke again.

Kabru suddenly became anxious: was everything really alright with him? But Thistle seemed calm, even serene, and his complexion didn’t look unhealthy, as it did on bad days.

“I’ll be glad if that’s really the case.”

It would be nice if a letter from Mithrun awaited him… Kabru’s thoughts involuntarily turned to him, no matter how foolish it seemed as too little time had passed.

“You’ll see.”

Kabru laughed in delight: they were actually talking. Thistle even answered appropriately! Though the desires that had been consumed in Thistle hadn’t returned yet, each new sign of his recovery filled Kabru with more hope and joy than he expected. It felt like indirect evidence that the process was reversible for the captain too, even though he already knew this was possible since he had been at Mithrun's side throughout their shared journey in the dungeon.

Five minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and Kabru automatically answered expecting to see Yaad or Falin, coming to fetch Thistle. Falin was indeed at the door, along with—surprisingly—Pattadol.

Kabru immediately jumped up from his desk to bow politely to the elven diplomat. She hadn’t been expected to arrive until next week, but perhaps the wind had been favorable, bringing them ashore ahead of schedule.

“Welcome,” Kabru smiled charmingly. “I hope your journey was pleasant.”

Pattadol interrupted his formalities, not diplomatically at all, and got straight to the point:

“First of all, here is a letter from the captain, before I forget.”

Kabru grabbed it before he could stop himself, then mentally cursed himself: neither Falin’s soft smile nor Pattadol’s disapproval escaped his notice. Pattadol had always been too scrupulous about anything related to the captain and hierarchy.

“Second, I have information about the symbol in your letter. And it can’t wait.”

From the severity in her tone, Kabru understood that he wouldn’t be able to open the letter in the next hour. Reluctantly, he tossed the envelope into his desk drawer and locked it, lightly brushing the emerald-colored paper with his fingertips. Even the potential solution to a case that had been bothering him for so long was less interesting to him at the moment.

“We’ll go to the library,” Falin announced, gently patting the top of Thistle’s head.

After Pattadol’s message and the archival records from the Canaries were delivered, Kabru found himself conflicted. On one hand, the entire kingdom was now indebted to the Western Elves. Kabru’s personal request to Mithrun, who clearly wasn’t concerned with diplomatic matters, had resulted in cooperation from the Elven Queen. On the other hand, the cost of delay was still unknown, but it could be very, very high. Taking that into account, Mithrun had absolutely done the right thing.

However, this did not quell Kabru’s discomfort. Especially after Cithis joined them, accompanying Pattadol for some reason instead of Fleki or Lycion, and with a menacing smile, she drawled,

“Whatever you come up with, Kabru of Utaya, don't get yourself into trouble. The captain won’t like it.”

Kabru could only stare at her in confusion, unable to respond. Did Cithis really think that Mithrun cared about this? Even though she had always seemed extremely perceptive and was close to the captain, Kabru’s pride, already trampled on once, wouldn’t allow him to believe her words. Regardless, there was no time to dwell on it. The problem with the dwarves still hadn’t been resolved. Lord Yaad and the king would arrive in the meeting hall any minute, and Kabru needed to come up with a convincing speech to get them to approve his crazy plan.

But first, he needed to play his role as advisor to the end:

“Please tell the Queen that we deeply appreciate her help and will definitely…”

“The Queen?” Pattadol exclaimed in surprise.

Cithis suddenly burst into laughter, and Kabru couldn't stop himself from wearily rubbing his temples—he had completely stopped understanding anything.

“Your queen approved sending this information to Melini, didn’t she?”

“Come now, our queen doesn’t have time for such trivialities,” Cithis scoffed. “This was a personal order from the captain, and he hates bureaucracy.”

Kabru was about to object that Mithrun was no longer the captain of the Canaries, but he didn’t get the chance—Laios suddenly burst into the room, followed by Yaad, Marcille, and Falin. He had to quickly pull himself together and briefly outline the situation: Master Thorn and likely his entire team were members of a secret cult that worshipped the Demon. They had become active only about a hundred years ago, which is why the symbol Kabru was searching for hadn’t been found in any ancient texts. The cultists had only been caught by the Canaries once, in the dungeon by the Eastern Sea. At that time, their sabotage—a series of explosions meant to sow chaos and weaken the barrier between the dungeon and the surface—had almost caused a second tragedy of Utaya. Fortunately, the crisis had been averted, but the Canaries failed to catch the cult leader and after that, his trail disappeared.

“So, now we have evidence?” Laios asked again.

“Yes, but only circumstantial,” Yaad answered before Kabru could. “We can suspend them from work and pay a fine, but to arrest them…”

Kabru knew this was his chance.

“That’s not enough. We can’t just let them go—we still don’t know what they’re planning, and we don’t know if the city is in danger right now.” A confident smile spread on Kabru’s face. “Fortunately, I have a plan.”

Chapter Text

“Mithrun,

First of all, thank you for your help and the urgency with which you passed the information to Pattadol, asking her to sail ahead of schedule. It would not be an exaggeration to say that it saved many lives. With the evidence we obtained, we were able to corner the culprit and prevent a terrorist attack, so no one was harmed.”

A small lie. Kabru’s handwriting still left much to be desired. Cithis had only healed his hand an hour ago, and his fingers weren’t quite obeying yet. However, he had no intention of limiting himself to just a few words or postponing the letter any longer—he had already delayed his response for three days, during which he had prepared for the execution of his plan. He didn’t want to wait another minute.

However, Kabru couldn’t tell the full truth, either. In his last letter, Mithrun had firmly asked Kabru not to put himself in danger and to be cautious—but Kabru had done neither.

“Preparations for the celebration are in full swing. I’m buried in work, and if I have to make one more choice between a snow-white tablecloth and dusty rose-colored one, choose between cake cream with or without vanilla, or come up with yet another seating plan to avoid scandal, I’ll go crazy.”

This was only half true. All of that was behind him, and there were new concerns ahead. But Kabru couldn’t write that in the past two days, he had been preparing to provoke Thorn, and today he had taken a desperate step. Kabru definitely couldn’t write about how he had gone to Thorn’s temporary workshop alone, deliberately arranging a meeting late in the evening when no one would interrupt them.

“Believe me, this is in your best interest,” Kabru had said during a formal visit to the builders, casually touching the dwarf’s wrist where a tattoo was hidden under the sleeve of his linen shirt.

The foreman’s eye twitched at these words and the hinted gesture, or perhaps at the unctuous smile, but he agreed to the conditions to meet.

“Thank you for finding time for me.”

“As if I could refuse the king's advisor,” Thorn replied irritably. “Though I still do not know why you are here.”

Kabru approached the window overlooking the courtyard. The evening twilight had already fallen over the capital, and the light from the only lit windows of the workshop was not enough. Yet Kabru knew his allies were hiding in the shadows of the street. And hidden in his right boot was his favorite dagger, so there was no reason to worry. Surprisingly, he wasn’t nervous—he had always been much less afraid of people than monsters.

“Let’s get down to business,” Kabru said confidently, turning around. “I know that the building collapsed because of your carelessness.”

Thorn raised his eyebrows with such naive relief that Kabru almost laughed.

“No need for excuses, I know this for a fact. But I can turn a blind eye to it if you don’t evade the issue now.”

“What do you mean?” Thorn frowned, suddenly shedding his air of politeness. He did not deny the accusation, implicitly confirming it. “What else do you want?”

Kabru wanted to figure out the details of the cultists’ plan. Despite secret searches of the places where Thorn’s crew had worked, the picture was still unclear. The collapse of one building in the northern district couldn’t have been the cult’s true goal, especially if they wanted to resurrect the Demon. Kabru needed to discover their true purpose, the full scope of it, to prevent it and ensure the capital’s safety.

To achieve this, he needed to talk to Thorn, but villains only revealed their plans willingly in bad novels—so Kabru did not plan to approach this alone. His job was to stall for time and make Thorn nervous. That way, Thorn’s mind would be more susceptible to Cithis’s magic, contained in the artifact resting peacefully in Kabru’s belt pouch.

“I need half the monetary compensation that was paid to your crew,” Kabru declared, trying to believe his own words. “You see, silence is golden, and service in the palace has not paid off materially for me.”

Thorn stared at him skeptically.

“I didn’t think you were one of those.”

“Without the dungeon granting wishes, it has been difficult to earn money. I want more, but for now, this is it.”

Kabru could see that Thorn had taken the bait: his eyes gleamed with interest. At the same time, it was clear that Cithis’s spell had started to take effect, as the dwarf had suddenly become too friendly for someone who was being openly blackmailed.

“I can offer you more than these measly pennies,” the dwarf said hotly. “If you have the guts.”

Kabru raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue.

“Although,” Thorn suddenly tensed, as if sensing something was wrong, “you’d better take the money and get lost.”

He reached for the drawer of the drafting table to grab the money, but Kabru didn’t want to let him off the hook. He brazenly interrupted, switching to a more familiar tone:

“No, since you started, continue. Otherwise, we can discuss your tattoo…”

Kabru barely managed to dodge the heavy ledger flying straight at his head, followed by a stabbing blow aimed at his liver. This wasn’t the response Kabru had anticipated, but it wasn’t entirely surprising either—even a fool could understand that he would hardly be allowed to leave alive. Once Thorn realized that Kabru had come on his own illegal initiative, he understood that this visit was made in secret—and that meant there was a chance to get away with it, even if that meant killing the king’s advisor.

“We almost had a deal,” Kabru scolded him, grabbing Thorn’s hand with the raised dagger.

Kabru had the advantage in height and endurance, but not in strength. Frankly, he had underestimated Thorn: the dwarf suddenly threw all his weight forward, and Kabru barely managed to stay on his feet. He was forced to grab the blade of the dagger with his right hand, cutting his palm before pushing the dwarf away. Annoyed at his own carelessness, Kabru drew the hidden dagger from his boot.

“Perhaps you would like to share the great goal of your little secret society? What were you planning to do in Melini?!”

“I knew it!” the dwarf shouted, immediately realizing Kabru had only been feigning ignorance. “You little bastard!”

Thorn lunged at him with incredible speed, but Kabru was done putting himself in harm’s way. He deftly dodged, thanks to years of training with Milsiril, getting behind his opponent and kicking him in the knee, causing him to buckle and lose balance. Kabru grabbed him firmly by the hair, tightly braided in the latest dwarven fashion, and pressed the blade to his throat—efficient and merciless, not giving him the slightest chance to struggle.

“I’ll ask again: what were you planning to do?”

Kabru knew he wouldn’t have to force an answer out of him. Cithis’s spell would soon take full effect anyway. It would be enough to hand Thorn over to her to speed up the process. But his palm ached and throbbed, he was hungry, and Thorn stank of fear and sweat. And Kabru was very, very angry.

However, he did not get a chance to enjoy himself. The guards burst into the workshop, and behind them was Cithis herself. Kabru knew that not far away, the city guards were already arresting the rest of the gang.

“You fight just as well as the captain,” Cithis said, pulling out her bells. The dwarf’s body relaxed in Kabru’s grip, and Kabru, with some satisfaction, let him slump to the floor. “And just as recklessly. How were you not the first to conquer the dungeon?”

Kabru could have argued with her: Mithrun was often far more reckless, and was undoubtedly more dangerous with his teleportation magic, faulty aim, and ruthlessness. And Laios, who had conquered the dungeon, was simply special. Instead, Kabru said:

“I’ve always been better at fighting people than monsters. But thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment,” she rolled her eyes. She added in a threatening tone, “And don’t you dare write about this incident to the captain.”

“As promised, I won’t,” Kabru agreed obediently.

Kabru's quill stilled above the page as he pulled himself out of his thoughts, trying to squeeze out anything to write about other than what really troubled him. The adrenaline still lingered in his body, making him tremble and giving him an obsessive desire to write everything down as it was. After all, this venture had helped prevent a series of explosions that were slated to occur right before the celebration, spanning inhabited neighborhoods and the central square. The sheer size of the cult and the number of runes the fanatics had scattered throughout the underground tunnels beneath the capital far exceeded their most alarming expectations.

But Cithis had made him promise to stay silent in exchange for her help, and besides, Kabru could not afford to discuss state matters in correspondence. Even if he hadn’t been able to think about anything else.

Looking for another topic, Kabru’s eyes skimmed through the lines of a letter he had reread more than once, where Mithrun had mentioned his new hobby of making quick sketches. His gaze lingered on a small pencil drawing at the bottom of the page: two figures by a campfire and a walking mushroom speared on an improvised skewer. Perhaps the most striking thing was that, even in this picture, full of quick strokes and careless lines, Kabru looked more like himself than his doppelgänger-shapeshifter had. It seemed that Mithrun now actually remembered what he looked like, unlike at the beginning of their acquaintance, and managed to convey this on paper.

“Such a cute drawing—the lessons weren’t in vain, it turned out recognizable. It’s nice to know that you actually remember what I look like!”

Kabru sighed. Perhaps he should have written it more gently. But he was tired, and every time he looked at this sketch with the two figures, he felt lonely.

“I’m joking. The drawing is really charming. I’ll keep it, just like all your letters. And thank you for worrying about me,” Kabru wrote.

“Cithis and Pattadol send their regards. As do Laios, Falin, and Marcille. And Senshi—he and Izutsumi returned from the East for the Summer Solstice celebration, and now we can look forward to some amazing meals. I can only hope they won’t be made from monsters, though I don’t really believe that I will be so lucky.”

Senshi’s ship had only arrived yesterday, but even with the dwarves’ arrest keeping him occupied, Kabru had already felt how the atmosphere in the castle had changed. They hadn’t had much time to talk yet, just exchanged a few words, but Kabru was eagerly looking forward to it.

"Anyway, life is busy, especially with the festival coming up. Chilchuck will arrive tomorrow with his family—I'm sure it will be fun."

Despite his words, Kabru felt a strange sadness mixed in with the joy. He must be too tired, on edge, and still recovering from the healing.

He quickly reread his own letter, which sounded ragged and incoherent, practically screaming that Kabru was hiding something and wasn’t acting himself at all. Deciding that it couldn’t get any worse, he added a couple more pitiful lines:

“It’s a shame that you won’t be able to attend the celebration. I would have liked that.”

Chapter Text

"You are quite popular,” Cithis purred, sidling up out of nowhere just as Kabru released Namari from his chaste embrace and slipped away to a quieter spot. "But you're not enjoying yourself at all."

He had invited Rin to the first dance, and then both he and Izutsumi had been swept into a strange circle dance by the cheerful Marcille and Falin. After that, he couldn’t refuse the daughter of the governor of Kahka Brud, and then the younger sister of the orc chieftain. Eventually, he found himself grabbing onto a dumbfounded Namari to avoid a second dance with the same young lady and the potential diplomatic scandal that might follow—Melini’s relations with Kahka Brud were already strained. And just when he thought he could relax for a moment, he found himself caught in an even stickier web.

"What a missed opportunity," the elf continued.

Kabru glanced at her. Cithis undoubtedly outshone most of the guests with her beauty, charming everyone with her revealing outfit. He couldn’t understand why she was the one accompanying Pattadol when she had previously been under Mithrun’s watch, yet it seemed that the glitter of crystal and the flame of a thousand candles suited her perfectly. Far more than fighting monsters in the Dungeon. Perhaps she was here precisely because of her manners and how she carried herself, something the wilder Fleki and Lycion couldn’t pull off.

"I guess I’m just tired."

"Tired of waiting?"

Every time Kabru spoke with Cithis, he experienced a strange feeling, as though she were diving straight into his skull and scraping around with a small silver spoon—so effortlessly did she extract his hidden thoughts. And now, without any magic, she casually voiced the very essence of his discontent: Kabru was waiting. Despite all reason, he wanted Mithrun to be among the hundreds of guests, whose tousled head Kabru had been subconsciously searching for in the crowd all evening while fully aware of the futility of his search.

At the very least, Kabru hoped to receive another letter from him, but that was almost as impossible as his visit: the signaling spell had only activated three days ago.

"May I invite you to a dance?" Kabru smiled charmingly, not wanting to answer her questions.

"Not a chance," Cithis bluntly refused, then laughed. "I like teasing the captain, but he’s not here."

Kabru once again didn’t understand her words, but he played along.

"Oh, my heart is broken!"

"Better take care of it. You tallmen are too fragile and short-lived as it is," Cithis chuckled before leaving him.

With a graceful sway of her hips, she headed toward Pattadol, who was struggling to hide her boredom as she conversed with the former governor of the Island, now the governor of a city that had become a mountain resort. Kabru sighed. Part of his job was to make sure all the guests were comfortable and having fun, to speak with everyone and check if everything was alright. But at the moment, he barely had the energy to remain here. Laios also seemed tired, but he was holding up—he had only unbuttoned the top two buttons of his perfectly (and thus too tightly) fitting doublet. He was clearly eating less than he wanted, fending off Zon’s attempts to set him up with his sister while pretending to listen to Mr. Tansu’s ranting. It seemed that the gnome was arguing heatedly with Toshiro while Mrs. Tansu affectionately tugged at Falin’s cheeks, whom she had developed warm feelings for at some point. Kaka and Rin stood nearby—they had started talking after joining the Royal Dungeon Investigation Unit, along with Namari and Kiki.

The official dwarf delegation, initially tense and grim due to the recent cultist incident, now also seemed pleased—the Prime Minister himself was offering them a warm welcome, with Senshi as the mediator. There had always been a biased attitude towards dwarves on the Island, so Laios had decided not to make the cultist story public, only discussing it behind the scenes to warn the dwarves from Kahka Brud and gain their support in the future.

Kabru’s eyes accidentally met Yaad’s, and he realized another conversation was inevitable.

"It seems everything is going better than we hoped," Yaad said, leaving the dwarves and crossing half the hall to reach Kabru. "All the work was worth it."

"I hope we’ll still feel that way after our guests leave," Kabru sighed, afraid to relax too soon.

"You think too much, as always."

Kabru remembered how Thistle had said almost the same thing not long ago. He was not in attendance at the celebration. He was still afraid of new people, and the notoriety of the Mad Mage might not help budding diplomatic relations.

It must be incredibly lonely for him to stay in his chambers alone on such a festive evening, Kabru thought.

As if reading his mind, Yaad suggested:

"Maybe you could bring Thistle his favorite pastries?"

Kabru smiled gratefully, planning to take advantage of the opportunity Yaad had offered.

Escaping wasn’t easy: he had to listen to Toshiro complain about the stubbornness of dwarves, drink a whole pint of ale with Chilchuck, who had finally detached himself from his beloved wife’s side for the first time that evening, and reassure Senshi that he was delighted with the open pie with caramelized onions and baked mandrake (Kabru didn’t even touch it). But an hour later, armed with a tray of various pastries and a couple of bruschettas, he was creeping down the corridor leading to the residential part of the castle.

The noise of the music and voices had completely faded by the time Kabru greeted the guards and pushed open the massive door. Thistle’s chambers greeted him with the warm light of a lit candelabra and the steady rumble of contented purring: Izutsumi was curled up in a cozy ball at the foot of the bed, purring loudly.

Her simple and comfortable dress, along with her shoes, were carelessly thrown on the chair by the window—she remained in just her linen underdress, at least partly adhering to human decency. Thistle, however, didn’t care about that. He was absorbed in reading and didn’t even look up at Kabru’s entrance.

“It seems to be quite peaceful here,” Kabru said quietly, not daring to come closer.

Izutsumi instantly perked up her ears and lazily opened one eye.

“Oh, it’s you.”

She didn’t say anything more, only stretched like a cat, rolled over onto her other side, and resumed purring. Kabru decided to count this as a victory. Skeptical and prickly like any teenager, Izutsumi at least did not treat him with suspicion.

“I brought pastries: there is nut, honey, lemon jam, and custard with strawberries. And if you're hungry, there are also bruschettas with crab meat. I stole them from under Laios’s nose, if you must know.”

Izutsumi ignored him, flicking her tail dismissively, but Thistle finally tore himself away from his book. He asked:

“Did Yaad send you?”

Kabru nearly dropped the tray. He had never heard Thistle refer to Yaad by his real name. They had stopped hiding the truth as soon as Thistle started recovering, but he had stubbornly ignored reality and only ever called Yaad “Delgal.” For the first time, he misspoke and realized it. Thistle’s face became confused and, for some reason, a little scared.

Kabru decided not to press on this painful topic. Everything happens in its own time, and if Thistle ever wanted to talk about it, he would be there.

“Yes, and Lord Yaad said that nut cakes are your favorite. I also wanted a bit of quiet: the past week has been too chaotic.”

Kabru carefully placed the tray on the nightstand and paused, unsure of what to do next. Leaving seemed uncaring, and where else could he go—back to the noisy celebration or to his room to wallow in solitude? Neither option appealed to him.

“May I stay here for a bit?”

“Do as you like,” Thistle replied, but despite his words, he closed his book.

Kabru sighed with relief as he unbuttoned all the gilded buttons of his vest, removed his belt pouch, took off his pointed shoes, and climbed onto the bed, sitting at the foot. Izutsumi grumbled in displeasure but didn’t budge an inch—fortunately, the bed was king-sized and could easily accommodate twelve Thistles, so the three of them definitely fit.

It suddenly felt easier to breathe. Kabru leaned back against the bedframe with satisfaction, finally giving his back a much-needed rest.

“How did it go?” Thistle suddenly asked, as if he were genuinely interested.

Kabru thought for a moment. Though the main goal of the grand celebration was to build bridges with ambassadors from neighboring states, diplomats, influential political figures, and other important people, the event itself lacked any pomp. They had managed to keep the budget modest while still showcasing not only the splendor of the ancient halls, but also sincere hospitality, a family-like atmosphere, and simplicity. The celebration was fitting for Laios himself, who was still learning to be a king and made diplomatic blunders, but seemed like someone who would never become a tyrannical and overbearing ruler. Despite months of preparation and a significant amount of work, they had enjoyed themselves more than they had worried about formalities or making everything look perfect.

In the end, Kabru realized, it had actually been a lot of fun.

“It went wonderfully. I hope you’ll get to see it next year.”

Thistle didn’t agree or argue. He didn’t react at all, continuing to stare blankly at the wall, as though he had forgotten what he had been doing. So Kabru decided not to delve into the details of the evening, choosing to attempt piquing his interest another time. Instead, he offered:

“Try a pastry.”

Thistle blinked, glancing doubtfully at the tray, which contained more pastries than he could possibly ever eat. Kabru recognized that empty stare, devoid of appetite, but he also knew it didn’t necessarily mean he didn’t want to eat.

“Just take a small bite—it will make Yaad happy.”

The name Yaad—not Delgal—worked. Thistle obediently took a nut cake from the tray, the very one that reminded Kabru of the elven cake he loathed in his childhood, and took a bite. He chewed deliberately, then took another, just like Mithrun had when he tried the barometz stew—though in Mithrun's case, he hadn't needed any convincing.

“It’s good,” Thistle said in surprise, barely swallowing, as if he couldn’t believe he actually liked it.

Kabru suddenly realized he had been holding his breath and finally exhaled.

“Everything will be fine,” he said, feeling more certain than ever.

Thistle said nothing, and only Izutsumi's amused but warm snort served as a response.

Chapter Text

The central square buzzed like a disturbed beehive—it seemed as though all the residents and guests of the capital had gathered there on the last day of the festival. Kabru had come straight here after the farewell feast with the delegation from Kahka Brud, intending to buy a few things and, more importantly, to witness the public celebration with his own eyes.

He pulled down his hood as low as possible, not wanting to be recognized—he had already been well known in certain circles of adventurers, and after becoming assistant to the Prime Minister and advisor to Laios, the Devourer of All Things Terrible, everyone in the city seemed to know his name. The last thing he wanted was to listen to complaints and petitions or make people uncomfortable with his presence. There was also a high chance that merchants would either give him goods for free or, conversely, inflate the prices—neither option suited him.

The market stalls overflowed with variety: spices and fabrics from the East, clay and metal cookware from the Southern Continent, wooden and silver figurines, children's dolls, wooden swords, toy shields, and, of course, all sorts of jewelry. Kabru strolled leisurely from one stall to another, skillfully weaving through the crowd, taking an interest in everything for sale.

"This is mother-of-pearl, harvested off the shores of the Eastern Sea," the shopkeeper suddenly said. "A very rare shade, almost impossible to find."

A hairpin caught Kabru’s gaze for a moment—long enough to prompt the vendor to speak to him. It truly stood out from the rest, its pinkish-white hue reminiscent of apple orchards in spring bloom. The mother-of-pearl stirred memories in Kabru: as children, he and Rin used to collect seashells on the shore, sneaking away without permission. One day, they got caught. Rin, who had grown up in far harsher conditions, bore the worst of it—her swollen cheek the next day made Kabru furious. In retaliation, he played a prank on her masters and vowed never to drag her into trouble again. And he had kept that promise—at least until he came of age. Then he left the North Central Continent to explore the Dungeon on the Island, and Rin had followed him.

"I’ll let you have it for half price," the vendor said. "You really seem to like it—you won’t even touch it."

Kabru smiled and reached for his coin pouch without protest.

Maybe it was for the best that Rin hadn’t come with him—this way, he could surprise her. And perhaps, in her gratitude, she would finally tell him what she's been up to. What was tying up so much of her time that made her flush, pale, and struggle to come up with plausible excuses for refusing invitations to meet? Kabru suspected Kaka had something to do with it—he had barely left Rin’s side during the entire ball—but he wanted to be sure. And not just out of curiosity. He needed to know for certain so he could protect Rinsha, whom he loved like an older sister, even if not by blood.

The next stall was filled with knives and daggers—ranging from simple kitchen tools to ornate, gem-encrusted ceremonial weapons—but Kabru wasn’t interested. He quickly slipped through the crowd, heading for the next merchant.

His main priority was to find a housewarming gift. A home had been provided for the elven diplomats in the elite district near the castle, so Pattadol and Cithis would soon be moving out of their current quarters. That is, once the renovations were complete—Cithis had taken one look at the egg-yellow walls and immediately compiled a list of necessary changes, while Pattadol—perhaps only out of a desire not to argue—had drawn up the budget. The repairs were being funded by elven money, so Kabru wasn’t too concerned, except that it added extra pressure to his gift selection.

He glanced over the kitchenware but decided the elves were unlikely to appreciate it. Pattadol came from a noble house, and Cithis’s standards were simply too high. Both were quite the headache, like every Canary he had ever known. And yet, he genuinely wanted to get along with them.

His eyes landed on a vase made of a stunning, semi-transparent glass. Sunlight passed through it, as if trapped inside, glowing softly.

"Is this some kind of enchantment?" Kabru asked, intrigued.

"Not quite," replied an elderly dwarf, barely visible over the tall counter. "It's an ancient dwarven craft from the Southern Continent, passed down through generations. The vase is twenty coins."

Kabru knew bargaining would be difficult, but he tried anyway.

"I’ll take it for fifteen without argument. In the last few hours of the fair, you're unlikely to find another buyer, and transporting something this fragile could be risky. You might lose both the item and the money."

The dwarf gave him a long, displeased stare. Kabru braced himself for the price to go up instead of down, but then, with a wave of his hand, the dwarf relented.

"You cheeky brat! Still wet behind the ears, and already haggling like a sly goblin. Fine, take it for next to nothing!"

Kabru pretended to be embarrassed by the outburst—but he wasn't too convincing. The moment he touched the vase, delight washed over him. It was warm, as if it truly had absorbed the sun’s heat. Feeling sentimental, he even handed over two extra coins, unsure whether it appeased or disappointed the grumpy dwarf.

Tucking the vase, now wrapped in enchanted paper, securely under his arm, Kabru continued wandering through the fair, no longer concerned about completing his main task.

"Kabru, my friend!" someone called from near a candle stall.

Before he could turn around, Kabru found himself in a strong dwarven embrace. Daya, standing a few steps away, looked far less pleased about the encounter than her fiancé. Still, when Kabru waved at her with an exaggerated, pleading look, her lips twitched into a reluctant smile.

"Artos, let him go," she said.

The firm grip on his back loosened, and Kabru could finally breathe again. The red-haired dwarf grinned at him as if they had grown up together, rather than having met only once before.

“I'm glad to see you both,” Kabru said sincerely once they had moved to a quieter spot. “It's great that you could make it to the festival.”

“He's here for work, escorting another shipment of lumber to your capital,” Daya remarked. “But I actually did want to look around. They're selling elven fabrics over there by the fountain—you won't find anything like that in Kahka Brud, no matter how hard you search.”

Kabru hadn’t been there yet, but it wasn’t hard to guess why Daya, who had never shown any interest in fashion, might need elven fabric—elven wedding veils were simply exquisite.

“It might be difficult, but I can try to gather all of our old friends—we could sit down at the tavern, it's been a while…”

“We're leaving tonight, sorry,” Artos said with genuine regret. “Ever since Melini was revived, there’s been more work than we can handle.”

Kabru smiled; it always pleased him when good people could earn an honest living. The Golden Kingdom had become a new hub attracting all nations and races, benefiting its neighbors as well. And all without the Dungeon. Kabru made a mental note to find out exactly where Artos’s workshop was supplying its lumber and ensure he was being compensated fairly.

“Yes, he's practically living at work now, and all the wedding preparations are left to me,” Daya sighed, confirming Kabru’s suspicions. “Speaking of the wedding, it’s in two months. You and Rin are coming, right?”

“Of course, we'd love to,” Kabru assured her. “Can I bring someone else along?”

“You scoundrel,” Daya smacked him painfully on the arm. “Even with such an important job, you still find time for romance?”

“No, no!” Kabru chuckled, surprised at how easily Daya had caught him off guard. “It’s more for Rin—seems like something’s going on with her. But you didn’t hear it from me!”

Daya waved it off—Kabru already knew she wasn’t the gossiping type.

“We heard there’s a stall selling chicken skewers with some unusual sauce…”

“The food stalls are over that way,” Kabru pointed. “I’d walk you there, but I still have things to look at—I couldn’t get away earlier.”

“Don’t worry, my friend,” Artos clapped him on the shoulder so hard Kabru nearly dropped the vase. “We’ll find it ourselves, we won’t get lost.”

As they walked away, Kabru cheerfully called after them:

“By the way, congratulations!”

The meeting had been a pleasant one, leaving him feeling even more energized. With a light heart, Kabru plunged back into the bustling crowd to continue his adventure. Eventually, after five impulsive purchases, he reached the stall Daya had mentioned.

It mainly sold fabric—transparent and light as silk, but stronger—woven with the same spider silk used to craft the Canaries’ armor that Laios had admired so much. There were also finished garments, and that was what caught Kabru’s interest.

Before he knew it, he was sifting through weightless shirts and tunics—some with high collars, some sleeveless, but all with elegant tailoring that would make the fabric fit like a second skin. He never liked elven fashion himself, preferring tallmen styles: simple linen shirts with embroidered collars and wide sleeves, short doublets, knee-length shorts or chausses—whatever was comfortable. But there was one person this clothing would suit perfectly.

Kabru suddenly had an intense desire to see Mithrun in a festive elven doublet over a snug-fitting shirt that highlighted his slender frame. It would be, undoubtedly, a beautiful sight…

“These styles rarely suit tallmen, but everything would look good on you, young man,” an elven woman suddenly said. She was clearly centuries old, nearing her twilight years. To Kabru’s surprise, he noticed notches in her ears—indicating she had once been a Canary serving a sentence. “No need to hide it. That face of yours.”

Kabru didn’t reply; he only smiled politely and handed over a handful of coins, ensuring it was enough for both the tunic he was reluctant to let go of and a cloak the color of spring leaves. It was similar to the one Mithrun had worn at the start of their journey, using it as a weapon, and yet it felt entirely different. This shade was warmer, shimmering with freshness and sunlight.

Kabru wasn’t sure why he bought them—Mithrun hardly needed more clothes. And yet, he purchased them anyway, along with a bag to carry all his goods, including the vase he was still afraid of dropping.

“Today, you will receive what you have been waiting for,” the elven woman murmured as he left, her golden eyes burning with an unsettling intensity.

When Kabru returned to the castle, among the rest of the royal mail—which he was responsible for reviewing—he found a letter waiting for him:

“Hello, Kabru.

You were holding back a lot in your last letter, but I’ll pretend not to have noticed. It’s good that Pattadol arrived in time and that everything worked out. No need to thank me.

Sorry for the delayed response—I was staying at my brother’s estate and couldn’t figure out how to put this into words. For the first time in decades, I didn’t just exchange a few words with Obrin—I visited his home. I sat at the same table with him, his wife, and their children, and they called me uncle.

My nieces and nephews are very small, very noisy, and very annoying. I never thought I might actually like that. Obrin and Sultha look happy, though not in the way I had imagined.

Once, in the Dungeon, you asked if I kept in touch with my brother. Remembering that moment made me consider truly getting to know him. I haven’t decided yet if it was the right choice… It was rather awkward.

How was the festival? I hope Cithis didn’t cause you too much trouble—she does love making fools of the wealthy.

Your friend, Mithrun."

On the back of the letter was a simple sketch of a table overflowing with food, with three adults and two children seated around it. An elven woman with a long braid gazed directly at the viewer with a sly look in her eyes, as if to say there was no place for him in the picture.

Chapter Text

Writing a reply this time turned out to be unexpectedly difficult. Kabru wasn’t sure what troubled him most about the captain’s last letter—his unusually gentle tone, his uncharacteristic verbosity, the unsettling detail of his drawing, or simply the fact that Mithrun had met with his brother. The brother he once hated and despised for his weakness, for his congenital disability. For the fact that because of it, he couldn't fulfill the duty of an elder sibling, and Mithrun himself had been forced to join the Canaries. For the fact that this weakling turned out to be the legitimate child of their mother and father. For the fact that he had won the woman Mithrun loved and the life Mithrun had dreamed of.

Judging by the story the captain shared, it seemed he regretted how he had behaved in the past and the kind of person he had been. Therefore, his decision to take the first step and reconnect with his brother was probably a good sign. And yet, besides his brother, he had also met his former beloved—it was her happiness with another that had pushed Mithrun to become the Lord of the Dungeon. It was her image, created by the Demon, that had stood by his side for five long years. What did Mithrun feel upon seeing her now?

It was unlikely that he wanted to be with her again after his previous desires had been consumed by the Demon. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel regret or longing. Would this make things worse for him? What if he started harming himself again? Kabru had seen the pattern of thin scars on his body when he had helped him change and bathe. They had even discussed them—Kabru couldn't resist asking questions, and Mithrun, as always, answered in unnecessary detail, hiding nothing.

“You don’t like the casserole?”

Kabru flinched and stared at Senshi, who was gently touching his sleeve. The cook looked concerned. And no wonder—he had put in great effort preparing the farewell dinner, since he and Izutsumi were leaving for Izganda at dawn. The table was overflowing with dishes, most of which didn’t even contain monsters, but Kabru had hardly touched them. He had taken a piece of casserole and, judging by its state, had been tormenting it for a while—his plate now held something resembling lumpy porridge.

“No, it's not that, sorry,” Kabru sighed guiltily. “I was just…lost in thought.”

He quickly scooped up a spoonful of what had once been a delicate rice casserole under a crust of melted cheese and stuffed it into his mouth. He chewed slowly—even after cooling down and enduring his sacrilegious treatment, it was still delicious. Senshi truly had a gift, both for cooking and for caring for others through food.

“This won’t do,” Senshi grumbled, taking Kabru’s plate away. “You need to eat something hot and hearty; appetite comes with eating.”

As if by magic, a generous portion of curry with a breaded, fried pork cutlet appeared before Kabru. Exhausted from lack of sleep and worry, he was immediately overwhelmed by the thought that there was no way he could finish it.

“Senshi, this is too much…”

“Just start,” Marcille suddenly interjected. “With Senshi’s cooking, after the first bite, you won’t be able to stop!”

It turned out that their conversation had drawn everyone’s attention. Even Izutsumi was staring at him with her enormous feline eyes, almost menacingly, while Chilchuck added, "Whatever’s bothering you, eating well and drinking some good ale will help you feel better.”

“That's right!” his charming wife chimed in, promptly filling Kabru’s mug to the brim.

Holm, sitting to his left, grumbled in unison with Rin, “Just drink already.”

Laios said nothing, merely taking a sip from his own cup, setting an example. So Kabru drank as well, then took his first bite of rice, scooping up plenty of curry—then another, and another, until his plate was empty.

They all had a challenging day ahead of them tomorrow. Senshi and Izutsumi were setting out at the first light of dawn, while Chilchuck, along with Mickbell and Kuro, planned to visit the halfling camp in the northeast where they had settled in the early months of the kingdom’s rebirth, though not by choice. Marcille and Falin hadn’t shared their plans, but Kabru knew that before the full moon, they always went into the forest to gather medicinal herbs, when the plants’ properties and mana concentration were at their peak. Rin and Holm’s research team was leaving the capital in two days, so they needed time to thoroughly prepare. New entrances to the Dungeon had been discovered in the South, still in its infancy and, according to reports, safe but in need of study. The emerging dungeons, troubling rumors of attacks on border settlements, and reports of unstable magical conditions gave Kabru and Laios plenty to do tomorrow as well.

And yet, they couldn’t part ways right after dinner. Instead, they climbed the western wall of the castle to admire the view of the harbor. Half of them were out of breath from ascending the tower’s spiral staircase, cursing Laios for the idea. The other half were out of breath too, but they knew the view would be worth it.

The sky above them was deep black, scattered with large stars, and the air was cooler and felt almost purer, free of the lingering summer heat. The ocean was nearly indistinguishable from the dark night sky, with only the moonlight dancing off the water and the distant glow of lighthouses marking the horizon. Kabru couldn’t help but think how easy it would be to get here using teleportation—and how wonderful it would be to gaze at the night sky and dark waters with Mithrun.

“Worried about the dungeons?" Rin suddenly asked. She had stuck close to him all evening. Large gatherings still made her uncomfortable, especially the odd mix of Laios’s and Kabru’s former parties, and yet he knew she had enjoyed the evening. As had he, despite his distracted mental state.

“Not really,” Kabru answered honestly.

Of course, after Laios’s victory over the Winged Lion, he had hoped they were finally free from the Demon’s influence and monsters for good. But life wasn't so simple. Everything was constantly changing, adapting, being reborn, and repeating itself—including the mistakes of the Ancients. At least now they knew what they were dealing with.

“Then why do you look so down?” Rin asked, surprised.

“Oh, come on, I’m just tired,” Kabru brushed it off, knowing he couldn’t share the real reason. He wouldn’t tell anyone Mithrun's full, too-dark, and brutally honest story. Not even Rin. “By the way, I have a gift for you.”

He pulled a hairpin from his belt pouch, which he had brought to dinner just for this moment, and placed it in Rin’s hands. The bait worked—Rin immediately forgot about his sour mood, focusing on the gift instead.

“This is too fancy,” she frowned. “Where would I even wear this?”

Despite her protests, Kabru could tell she liked it. He could see it in the glint of her dark eyes and the furrow between her brows, the one that always appeared when she was trying to hide her true emotions.

“I can think of at least one occasion. Daya’s wedding is in two months. I ran into her at the market. We’re both invited.”

“Ah, I…” Rin hesitated, blushing and looking away.

Many in their group assumed that one day, Rin and Kabru would become a couple. Kabru sometimes played along with their jokes, much to Rin’s frustration. But now she had someone she didn’t want to mislead. Kabru decided to step in so she didn't have to continue fumbling for words.

“You can bring whoever you want. For example, Kaka would be thrilled—things are serious between you two, right?”

“You know everything, don’t you!” Rin huffed before letting out a relieved sigh. “Stay out of my business.”

“Yes, yes, you busy girl,” Kabru chuckled.

“And don’t laugh,” Rin grumbled. “One day, you will also meet someone… special.”

She couldn’t hold her stern expression for long. A smile transformed her face, and for some reason, Kabru felt something stirring in his chest. He had always wanted Rin to stop hiding her feelings behind fake severity, to frown less—and love, it seemed, suited her.

“Hey, stop standing around and come over here!” Marcille called out. “The view is amazing!”

Rin carefully tucked the hairpin into her bag, and they joined the cheerful, slightly tipsy group.

He was already surrounded by special people, Kabru thought, watching Laios and Falin compete over naming constellations, Chilchuck fixing Marcille’s hair, a happy Rin, the intoxicated Holm and Namari, a content Senshi, and Izutsumi, who had pointedly distanced herself from the group but was still watching them intently.

Only Mithrun had left him behind—and made him worry.

Chapter Text

Kabru still had not received a reply. Three weeks had passed since he sent his last letter, yet the carefully placed seal had not activated. He didn’t know what to think.

That night, after the farewell dinner, Kabru had gathered his thoughts and written his most candid and honest letter—one that, as a result, turned out to be pitiful and disorganized. He barely remembered what exactly he had scribbled in his nervous, shaky handwriting that filled an entire page, but his final words refused to leave his mind. They were the ones he most wished he hadn’t written at all:

“I wish I could be there to make sure you’re okay. Or to take care of you if you’re not. Even if you don’t need it, I’d still want to.”

Maybe it was for the best if Mithrun never read these words—he would probably find them awkward or, more likely, exhausting. Kabru was holding on too tightly to their connection, taking up too much space. Far more than the distant Mithrun ever needed.

On the other hand, Kabru’s concern wasn’t without reason, and those reasons were far more important than his fear of being overbearing. Maybe after meeting his brother, Mithrun really had gotten worse. Maybe he was bedridden again, too weak, or had lost interest in everything—including corresponding with Kabru. Even though Pattadol assured him that Fleki, Lycion, and even Otta still visited the captain after he left the Canaries, those three hardly seemed like reliable companions when it came to psychological support.

Finally, an idea struck Kabru—he needed a different means of communication. One that was more reliable, faster, and didn’t involve monstrous delays. Fairies.

When he tried to ask Marcille about them, her face twisted awkwardly. He later learned the reason from Falin, who explained in excessive detail the process of creating a fairy from seminal fluid, medicinal herbs, manure, and blood. The only signs of her embarrassment were the ruffled feathers around her neck and cheeks turning redder than usual, while Marcille looked like she wanted to sink into the ground.

So instead, Kabru decided to turn to those who used fairies regularly and knew the captain better than anyone else. Fortunately, he had a reason to visit the spacious house near the castle, located in one of the capital’s wealthier districts—the house that had finally finished renovations.

He could have arrived on an official visit, delivered a formal speech on behalf of Laios, and presented a gift to the elven envoys. Instead, Kabru had asked the royal gardener to cut some hydrangeas from the palace gardens and showed up unannounced.

No one answered his first polite knock. He knocked harder, knowing full well the house wasn’t empty—the arguing inside was loud enough to be heard from the street.

“Oh, it’s you,” Cithis sighed, finally opening the door. “Though, we already knew that, of course. Pattadol was hoping you’d leave.”

An indignant cry and hissing came from inside the house, but unlike Kabru, Cithis paid it no attention whatsoever.

“Very hospitable of her,” Kabru smiled, not at all offended. “May I come in?”

“Of course, make yourself at home,” Cithis said a little too warmly, allowing him to step over the threshold.

The house had been transformed after the renovation. Expensive silk wallpaper adorned the walls, along with mirrors and paintings. Sheer curtains draped the windows, shimmering with golden sunlight. The new furniture, though ornate, was crafted by skilled artisans and suited the ambiance (even if they hadn’t been moved into place yet). Undoubtedly, the house had taken on a wealthier and more refined look, but for Kabru, who had spent recent years living in a tavern basement and now only slept in castle chambers, the interior held no significance.

Pattadol stood in the middle of the elegant living room, frozen as if Kabru's visit had caught her off guard. Her large blue eyes reflected confusion and displeasure, and Kabru had no idea what he had done to annoy her.

“Thank you for the invitation,” Kabru said brazenly, looking Pattadol straight in the face. “Congratulations on your new home.”

He thrust a bouquet of blue hydrangeas into Cithis's hands, who readily accepted them but then sighed theatrically. “There’s just nowhere to put them.”

Kabru knew they could easily either enchant the flowers so they wouldn’t need water or conjure up a suitable vase, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he handed a package to Pattadol.

“And here’s the main gift.”

Pattadol’s displeasure was instantly replaced with barely concealed curiosity. Like an eager child, she tore off the enchanted wrapping paper, pulled out a vase, and began admiring it with delight.

“Oh, this really is…” she exhaled, momentarily forgetting herself. But she quickly regained her composure and stiffened. “A useful gift. Thank you.”

“Not bad,” Cithis confirmed, snatching the vase from Pattadol. “Even if it is dwarven work.”

Cithis left to fill the vase with water, and an immediate tension settled in the living room. Pattadol shifted from foot to foot, avoiding eye contact as if afraid to open her mouth and say too much. Kabru felt his curiosity pique.

“May I help with this wardrobe?” he offered, trying to break the awkward silence and earn some goodwill. “It certainly doesn’t belong in the middle of the living room.”

“No need,” Pattadol refused. “We haven’t decided on the arrangement yet—we were just discussing it when you arrived.”

She called it a discussion, but Kabru could tell it had been a heated argument. He didn’t comment, only sympathized with her internally—she and Cithis clearly had clashing personalities. It was surprising that Cithis had been entrusted with Pattadol’s security after she was appointed a diplomat, but Kabru had long since given up trying to understand elves.

“We could try a couple different spots, see what works best, and decide. I’d be happy to—”

“No need,” Cithis interrupted, echoing Pattadol’s words.

She carefully placed the vase on the wide windowsill, and sunlight gleamed even brighter in the glass. The blue hydrangeas took on a warm hue from the golden light. The gift had turned out to be perfect.

“Actually, we’ll have help soon.”

Kabru didn’t miss how Pattadol flinched at her words.

“And who—”

“Perhaps some tea?!” Pattadol cut him off, even grabbing his sleeve for good measure.

Kabru gladly seized the opportunity to stay longer and cheerfully settled down at the coffee table. He didn’t repeat the question—Pattadol was too nervous, and Cithis was too amused.

“Anything for me, as long as it’s without magic or poison,” he requested, keenly aware that both elves were acting strangely.

Cithis lounged on the sofa across from him, gracefully propping her cheek on her hand. She threw a playful glance at Pattadol, who shot her a reproachful look.

“You offered—so you do it. I’ll have jasmine.”

“Insufferable,” Pattadol muttered but didn’t argue.

Thanks to magic, delicate porcelain cups filled with golden jasmine tea appeared before them in under a minute. Pattadol perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, forcing Cithis to adjust her posture—tucking her legs up and sitting straighter, though still too relaxed. Within moments, she had her bare feet pressed against Pattadol’s thigh, and Pattadol allowed it.

“So,” Pattadol was the first to break, unable to hold out any longer. “You wanted to… ask us something?”

Dealing with the Canaries was always difficult, and Pattadol was no exception. She masked her inexperience with severity and wasn’t swayed by Kabru’s charm or eloquence. She simply never gave him a chance to prove himself, always rushing ahead. On the other hand, Kabru found her far less dangerous than Cithis.

“When was the last time you spoke with Mithrun?”

Cithis smirked, while Pattadol nervously bit her lip.

“We don’t speak with the captain,” Cithis stated. “He’s not one for letters and forgets to reply. You’re just a lucky exception.”

“But he hasn’t read my letter for a week, even though it should have arrived,” Kabru sighed, feeling both concerned and flattered. “And what about fairies? Doesn’t he have one?”

“The captain has trouble taking care of them,” Pattadol reluctantly explained, noticeably paler. “We once tried giving him a fully grown fairy, but… nothing good came of it. So much effort down the drain.”

She shook her head, as if dispelling unpleasant memories, while Cithis grimaced and didn’t even bother with a sarcastic remark. Kabru promised himself he would never ask Mithrun or the Canaries what happened to that fairy. It seemed he would have to accept that communication through fairies was not an option. Marcille would be pleased.

“Still, when was the last time you heard from him?”

“About two weeks ago,” Cithis drawled lazily.

“Otta sent us his greetings!” Pattadol interrupted. “Sh-she visited him!”

Cithis smiled, tracing the rim of her teacup with a fingertip but saying nothing more. Kabru felt a sudden headache—he felt he was being led by the nose.

According to them, Mithrun had been fine when he last wrote. That was good, but something could have happened afterward. More than that, their behavior stirred a gnawing suspicion that they were definitely hiding something.

“But what if she missed something? What if something changed after her visit, or—”

“Stop imagining things and live your own life,” Cithis cut him off. She glanced at Pattadol, who looked like she was being tortured into silence. “He can take care of himself without your interference. You’re just a tallman poking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

As if Kabru hadn’t told himself that a hundred times! But he couldn’t accept it, and Cithis’s words only made it worse.

“Maybe. But I just need a way to contact him.”

Pattadol gripped her teacup like a lifeline and took an exaggerated sip. Cithis shrugged dismissively.

“There isn’t one. Wait for a reply—if it comes. Be patient.”

The whole situation felt absurd, their behavior suspicious, and Cithis’s unexpectedly sharp yet truthful words threw Kabru off balance. Losing patience, he blurted out,

“I promised to be there for him!”

Cithis merely chuckled.

“Oh, this isn’t about a promise.”

Kabru felt the words he had been hiding in his heart leave his mouth without thinking. “I want to be there for him,” he admitted.

“That’s more like it,” she all but sang. “Fool. You short-lived ones are so slow.”

Suddenly, Kabru realized he had been tricked into showing his emotions. Fooled like a child. Pattadol must have seen his shock, because she finally broke her silence.

“Enough!”

She jumped up, shaking off Cithis's legs, which had long been resting on her lap.

“You need to stop testing everyone’s patience,” she jabbed a finger at Cithis. “Including mine.”

“Oh, but you know it's my favorite pastime,” Cithis blinked innocently.

“And you,” Pattadol turned to Kabru. “If you head to the harbor right now, you might just make it.”

Kabru raised an eyebrow in surprise, not understanding what they wanted from him.

“Make it where?”

There was no answer—Pattadol simply tugged on his sleeve, forcing him up from his chair.

“Why do I need to go to the harbor?”

“Don’t ask, just go,” Pattadol grumbled, dragging him toward the door.

Cithis’s ringing laughter and Pattadol’s urgency pushed him forward. Kabru had no idea what was happening. He only knew one thing: he never got to drink his tea, and his throat was unbearably dry.

“Just go,” Pattadol instructed before shoving him outside and slamming the door.

And so Kabru went. With a strange feeling, as if enchanted by Cithis or struck over the head, he stepped off the porch and walked down the street. At first, he walked slowly, hesitantly, running through guesses in his mind. But as he reached the bustling central square, full of people, he picked up his pace. Pattadol’s voice had betrayed doubt that Kabru would make it in time. That meant he had to hurry.

Eventually, he veered off the crowded street and broke into a run. Faces of startled passersby, fat cats, barking mongrels, narrow alleyways, and stone walls all flashed past him—the latter of which he swiftly climbed over to cut his route short. Emerging onto the cobbled road, he leaped onto the footboard of a carriage headed toward the harbor and tossed a coin to the driver; the moment they stopped at a crossroads, he was off again, running on foot.

Kabru didn’t understand why he was in such a rush when he didn’t even know what he would find at the harbor. But his legs carried him forward, his heart pounded wildly, urging him on. There was something he desperately wanted.

His desire was so obvious, so foolish and presumptuous, that Kabru refused to acknowledge it. To give it power, to risk disappointment. To admit the truth.

Even when the scent of salt and iodine filled his nose, when the cries of seagulls, the clamor of market stalls, and the curses of sailors reached his ears. Even when he spotted a small, unmarked ship docking at the far pier. Even when he ran toward it, getting as close as he could, and stood frozen in anticipation. Even when he noticed the carved elven crests on the ship—he refused to recognize his own longing.

Only when a familiar, elegant figure appeared on the ship’s bow, wrapped in an equally familiar emerald-green cloak, did Kabru finally admit it to himself.

He couldn't see Mithrun’s face from this distance, but he could easily imagine the faint smile touching his lips. The way his pale lashes trembled, the spark of laughter in his one healthy eye, the slight wrinkle of his nose when he scoffed in surprise that his arrival was no secret. Kabru refused to entertain the thought that Mithrun wouldn’t be happy to see him.

And before Mithrun could do what he did best—appear within arm’s reach with teleportation magic—Kabru realized one simple truth about himself.

It was not at all about his usual fascination with people, nor mere curiosity, nor a desire to help, nor friendly attachment, nor gratitude, nor even boredom. Or perhaps it was all those things at once. But more than anything—

He had feelings for Mithrun.

Kabru was utterly, hopelessly in love with him, and it was time to admit it.

Chapter Text

The journey to the castle in a modest, hastily hired carriage was a blur to Kabru. He vaguely remembered that he and Mithrun had talked, even argued. Mithrun had originally intended to spend the night at an inn, and Kabru had to convince him otherwise. As the Prime Minister’s assistant, he couldn’t allow the captain of the Canaries—who had done so much to help defeat the Demon—to be received with anything less than royal hospitality.

But if he set aside formalities, the truth was simple: Kabru just wanted to keep him as close as possible.

Mithrun didn’t seem upset by Kabru’s meddling nor by the fact that his arrival had not been a surprise. Kabru never revealed his source, but the captain half-heartedly complained about Cithis and Pattadol’s loose tongues—after all, they were the only ones who had known about his plans.

Mithrun hadn’t changed at all since their last meeting. Still taciturn, deceptively fragile, and just as… captivating. He looked far healthier than he had at the end of their journey through the Dungeon, though the long voyage across the sea had left its mark. Shadows lay beneath his eyes, his face was pale and weathered, his lips dry and cracked. His silver hair had grown longer, curling over his shoulders, heavy with salt and moisture.

Against all logic, Kabru found him unbearably beautiful.

He even thought he was handling himself quite well—despite his confused thoughts and stuttering heart.

Or so it seemed…

“A beautiful view.”

Mithrun stood by the wide-open window. The view from there was indeed breathtaking, overlooking the castle walls, the intricate web of city streets below, the distant port, the masts of docked ships, and the turquoise sea stretching to the horizon.

Yet for Kabru, nothing compared to the figure before him, slender and glowing in the sunlight.

“I’m glad you like it,” Kabru smiled. “There were no available rooms left in the eastern wing, but these are much better.”

“What’s in the eastern wing?”

Good question. Kabru had said too much.

“That’s where I live,” he admitted, scratching his nose in embarrassment. “I just thought it would be more convenient.”

“You don’t need to look after me anymore,” Mithrun said simply. “Don’t worry.”

This meant that Mithrun had indeed made strides in his recovery—he was now managing his own daily routine and remembering to complete basic tasks. Kabru should have been happy for him, but instead, he felt a pang of regret. He was jealous and unworthy.

“Well then,” Kabru sighed, barely keeping a polite smile on his face. “Since you’re not hungry, we’ll wait for dinner. In the meantime, I’ve arranged for a hot bath to be prepared for you.”

“I don’t have any clean clothes.”

His belongings were still on the ship and wouldn’t be delivered to the castle for at least a few hours.

“I’ll bring you mine,” Kabru offered quickly, hoping his voice didn’t betray his nerves.

“Thank you.”

The image of Mithrun's small frame swallowed by borrowed tallman clothes surfaced in Kabru's mind. The undershirt would completely hide his lean, narrow hips, and the sleeves would reach his fingertips unless rolled up. The pants could be cinched at the waist, but he’d have to find a shorter pair. It wouldn’t be the first time they exchanged clothes; it had happened before in the Dungeon after an unfortunate encounter with Changelings. But back then, things had been different.

Now, the images forming in his mind sent his pulse racing. This was dangerous territory.

Fortunately, before Mithrun could turn from the window and notice anything odd about Kabru, a knock sounded at the door.

Two male servants entered, carrying a half-filled tub, while a maid followed with a bucket and towels.

“Perfect,” Kabru said hastily. “I’ll be back soon.”

The eastern wing wasn’t far—in just ten minutes, Kabru was in his chambers rummaging through his trunk. It was a mess, as usual, but he managed to find what he was looking for.

The elven tunic he had bought at the summer festival finally had a purpose. Kabru wasn’t sure if bringing it instead of one of his regular shirts would be a better or worse option. It would definitely fit more snugly than the one Mithrun had arrived in, and the fabric was thinner—so thin that it would likely reveal every contour of muscle and every sharp bone beneath.

Against all reason, Kabru very much wanted to see that.

He took his time; Mithrun wouldn't need his help when there were servants. Kabru found his shortest pair of pants, a belt, underwear, and a hair ribbon he had once picked up in the garden but had forgotten to return to Thistle. He also took a moment to sort through the accumulated mail, grabbing the reports from the southern border. Those had to be read as soon as possible.

And yet, by the time he returned, Mithrun was still in the bath—lying motionless, head tilted back against the rim, one arm dangling over the edge. He had dismissed the servants.

Kabru almost never used this kind of bathtub, preferring the communal baths as this one was too small for him, allowing only a quick rinse. But Mithrun fit inside completely, though he couldn't quite stretch out his legs. His sharp knees stuck out of the water awkwardly.

“I brought you some clothes. Am I intruding?”

Mithrun cracked open his good eye and fixed Kabru with a deep, searching gaze but said nothing. He always looked at him like that, as if peeling away every social mask, reaching for his core. For the first time, Kabru feared what Mithrun might find there.

“I can step out. Call me if—”

“Stay,” Mithrun cut him off. He shifted slightly, nearly splashing water onto the floor. “I’ll be done soon.”

So Kabru stayed, fully aware that he probably shouldn’t. He sat at the table by the window, deciding to go through his letters in the meantime, but his gaze kept drifting back to Mithrun. His eyes roamed over his narrow back, crisscrossed with scars, the sharp angles of his shoulder blades, the defined curves of his arms, and the damp ends of his hair clinging to his skin. He wanted to run his fingers through it.

Eventually, Kabru had to turn his back to him to stop staring and force himself to focus on the contents of the first letter. It contained nothing new or helpful, which at least helped clear his head. The second letter, however, proved more informative—it came with a map. Kabru carefully unfolded it and began studying the markings.

“That much work?”

The question pulled Kabru out of his pile of letters. Mithrun was standing right beside him, wrapped in an oversized towel, curiously eyeing the scattered papers on the table.

“Are you done already?”

“Reports from the South?”

“How did you—? Oh. Well, yeah, that’s not hard to guess.”

Suddenly, Mithrun leaned in closer, showing no hesitation about his own state of undress or invading Kabru’s personal space. Kabru froze, barely daring to breathe, his eyes fixated on the finger now pressing into the map.

“These are new entrances to the Dungeon?”

Of course, he already knew. There were too many rumors, and the Council of Melini wasn’t keeping secrets, regularly informing both the diplomats from Kahka Brud and the Elven Queen. Still, such fresh reports could be considered a state secret—though that didn’t seem to concern Mithrun in the slightest, and Kabru trusted him completely.

“Not confirmed yet. We’ll likely need to send another research team, and a larger one this time.”

“If that’s the case, then let—”

A large droplet suddenly fell onto the map, smudging the ink in an unimportant section. Kabru flinched involuntarily.

“Ah! We need to dry your hair.”

“Sorry,” Mithrun quickly pulled back. “I’ll do it now.”

Kabru tilted his head back, watching as Mithrun awkwardly wrung out the ends of his hair with the edge of the towel. He looked disheveled and still flushed from the hot bath, and the fabric was woefully insufficient to cover him properly. On top of that—

“Wait, you’ve got soap behind your ear. And on the back of your head,” Kabru said, jumping up the moment he noticed. “Is there any clean water left? Let me help.”

He expected another argument—Mithrun always insisted on his independence like a stubborn child and refused any assistance—but this time, he didn't protest. Mithrun obediently returned to the tub and waited while Kabru scooped up clean water. Then he bowed his head, allowing Kabru to help.

His hair was soft and silky, especially under the stream of water, just as Kabru remembered it. He alternated between gently massaging his scalp to rinse out the soap at the roots and running his fingers through the damp curls.

What had brought Mithrun here?

The entire way to the castle, Kabru had wanted to ask but couldn’t bring himself to. Now, though, it seemed more and more likely that the Dungeon was the reason.

Gazing at the vulnerable nape of Mithrun’s neck, Kabru finally asked, “You’re here because of the Demon, aren’t you?”

“More no than yes,” Mithrun answered cryptically, leaving his curiosity unsatisfied.

“I’m planning to stay in the capital. For good.”

Kabru nearly choked—first from the news itself, then from Marcille's sharp elbow jabbing him in the ribs conspiratorially. Needless to say, this was the first time he was hearing about it.

“I need a place in the trade district. I’ll open a noodle shop downstairs, and the second floor will have a couple of living quarters.”

A noodle shop. Just like that.

“Your idea?” Marcille whispered to him.

“Not at all,” Kabru muttered, glaring at Mithrun.

He had been seated too far away, to the right of Laios, and now all Kabru could do was stare across the table, trying to make sense of what the hell was happening. He had assumed Mithrun was staying for a while—perhaps to relax or because of the Dungeon—but certainly not to open a noodle shop. To live here.

“That sounds fantastic,” Laios said enthusiastically. “We still don’t have that many establishments, but I’d love for the capital to be known for its great food. And noodles are just—wait, why noodles, by the way?”

“No particular reason,” Mithrun shrugged. “It was Fleki’s idea. I spent a month training with a chef from the Eastern Islands and figured it wasn’t too bad.”

“I see,” Laios mused. “Yeah, Shiro mentioned that noodle shops are really popular in the East.”

“He even complained that we don’t have a single decent one,” Marcille grumbled.

“Toshiro is a tough critic, but I’m sure he could offer some useful advice,” Falin smiled.

Kabru could have sworn that Mithrun had no interest in advice or critique—he was far more invested in the portion of beef in wine sauce in front of him. And yet, with remarkable social finesse, Mithrun smiled back.

“I’ll do my best to make sure he likes it.”

Kabru grabbed his glass, ready to drown himself in wine. Not only was Mithrun being overly friendly, planning to open a noodle shop and settle in Melini, but he was also smiling in a way that made something itch deep in Kabru’s chest. Smiling in front of everyone. At everyone!

He took a sip to soothe his throat, but the irritation remained. Unable to hold back, he cut into the conversation.

“I can help you find a good location. The restoration of the southern trade district is almost complete. The prices there are steep, but I could try to negotiate them down, and—”

“Money’s not an issue. I am from the House of Kerensil.”

He said it without any arrogance, as casually as someone might mention the weather or what they had for breakfast. And yet, Kabru felt an unpleasant sting at the realization that his help wasn’t really needed.

“All the better,” he said, keeping his tone neutral.

“I’m counting on you,” Mithrun nodded.

Liar. He didn’t even smile. So much for gratitude.

“Wonderful,” Kabru bared all thirty-two teeth in a defiant grin.

“Yes,” Mithrun replied, utterly expressionless.

Marcille nudged him in the side again, and Kabru smiled even wider, not understanding what was happening to him. He was angry. Gods, he was furious.

And at the same time, ridiculously happy.

Mithrun was here, sitting at the same table. They could talk instead of spending weeks waiting for letters. Even if their conversation felt more like a duel of words.

“You know what I was thinking—could we add noodles with a mandrake garnish to the menu?” Laios asked, as always oblivious to the tension in the air, effortlessly defusing it. “Or maybe with walking mushrooms?”

“No,” Mithrun replied firmly, and Kabru suddenly wanted to kiss him. “Too much trouble to harvest monster ingredients if they’re part of the regular menu.”

Maybe it wasn’t just about the monsters—maybe Kabru just really wanted to kiss him.

“But if it were seasonal…” Mithrun mused, ruining everything.

Kabru let out such a loud sigh that Marcille and Falin burst out giggling. Across the table, Yaad shook his head—he was always telling Kabru that trying to avoid monsters in a kingdom ruled by Laios was a lost cause.

To hell with it.

Kabru downed more wine and completely checked out of the conversation. He ate without tasting the food, drank, and burned holes into Mithrun with his gaze. But Mithrun never looked at him, not even once. Despite seeming exhausted from the long journey earlier in the day, he was now full of energy. And he was wasting it on meaningless chatter, as if trying to make everyone like him.

The tunic suited him. Just as Kabru had imagined, or maybe even better—though now he couldn’t be sure. It concealed the scars on his throat and hands, but not the graceful, powerful contours of his body. It seemed Mithrun liked it too. He wore it without protest and, even after his luggage was delivered from the ship, only changed his pants and shoes for dinner. And also…

“Come on, let’s go,” Laios’s voice suddenly rang out.

A heavy hand rested on his shoulder, the touch warm and insistent. Kabru shook his head, not wanting to get up just yet.

“Allow me, Your Majesty.”

Mithrun. Captain Mithrun, here in Melini. It was unbelievable…

The touch disappeared, and then, with annoying ease, he was hoisted up from his chair. Kabru immediately shifted all his weight onto Mithrun's shoulder, stubbornly refusing to stand properly. His support didn’t even waver, just sighed, and Kabru buried his nose in silver hair that smelled of lavender. Just like the soap he'd used…

“Are you sure he knows where he’s going?” Kabru heard Marcille’s doubtful voice before the doors closed behind them.

The castle corridors were much darker and quieter than the dining hall. Kabru kept stumbling over his own feet, cursing occasionally, but obediently let Mithrun steer him until they came to a stop.

“Which way now? Right? Where’s the west wing?”

“Take me there,” Kabru mumbled, trying to figure out where they were and how far they had wandered. The painting on the opposite wall looked vaguely familiar, but that was about it. “Take me to your quarters.”

“As if I remember where they are.”

Kabru chuckled, realizing that navigation was still up to him. He dragged Mithrun to the right on a whim—and, miraculously, it turned out to be the correct direction. He managed to find his room by instinct alone.

In the end, he was unceremoniously dropped onto the bed, then gently helped out of his doublet and boots. To his surprise, Mithrun didn’t leave immediately. The mattress dipped under his weight, and Kabru blinked up at him in confusion.

“Do you always get this drunk?” Mithrun asked, watching him with something between amusement and curiosity.

Kabru responded with a question of his own.

“And you didn't take a single sip of wine. Why?”

“I used to drink. And I… behaved very badly.”

Unlike Kabru, Mithrun never evaded questions. He always answered directly, sometimes even too bluntly. Or almost always.

“That sounds…”

Kabru searched for a word that wouldn’t give him away completely.

“… interesting. I’d like to see it.”

Suddenly, Mithrun reached out and ruffled his hair, as if he were a pet. Kabru, abandoning the last remnants of his dignity, leaned into his touch, letting him stroke his left temple before brushing his cheek against his knuckles. Heat flared under his skin.

It had been such a long day, full of too many revelations. Today, Kabru had finally come to terms with the true nature of his feelings, because Mithrun had suddenly returned. And now… Now…

“How did you end up here?” Kabru asked, struggling to find the right words.

“I took a ship?” Mithrun said, puzzled. “You met me yourself, remember?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Kabru mumbled, his tongue heavy. With the last of his strength, he managed to form the real question.

“Why are you here?”

Mithrun didn’t answer for so long that Kabru’s eyes drifted shut, and he couldn’t bring himself to open them again. A blissful darkness settled over him, undisturbed even by the dim flickering of the candelabra. In the darkness, Kabru could only hear the steady rhythm of his own heart and feel the warmth of fingers gently tousling his hair.

Whether he dreamt it or Mithrun truly said it, Kabru didn’t know. But the next morning, he remembered his answer.

“I wanted to.”

Chapter Text

Kabru woke up feeling miserable.

His head was pounding, his mouth was dry, and his stomach ached—he had never suffered from a hangover this bad before. In fact, he had never had one at all thanks to his age, but apparently, his time had come.

The physical torment came with emotional agony. He remembered the previous evening far too well, and the shame was eating him alive. Idiot! He had gotten upset just because Mithrun hadn’t bothered to tell him his plans when they were alone, and then he’d gotten jealous of his friends. He had behaved terribly and gotten drunk—what kind of behavior was that? Was this really the side of himself he wanted to show the person he was in love with?

To his relief, but not joy, Mithrun wasn’t at breakfast.

“You look terrible,” Laios greeted him with his usual irritating bluntness.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Kabru muttered, dropping heavily into his chair.

His legs felt unsteady, and he wasn't sure whether it was from hangover weakness or sheer relief. At least Mithrun wouldn’t bring up last night in front of everyone. Then again, he might not mention it at all. He probably didn’t care, and Kabru was just worrying for nothing.

“I had them bring you some broth. Eat it—you’ll feel better.”

He had no appetite, but Laios definitely had more experience with hangovers, so Kabru obediently took the spoon. The rich, perfectly salted broth slid pleasantly over his tongue, gently coating his throat and warming his stomach. The pain in his stomach disappeared almost instantly, even without any healing spells.

He finished his bowl much faster than was appropriate in polite company, but the relief was overwhelming—and so was his sudden hunger. Besides, Laios was looking at him with such approval, as if he had spent the whole morning standing over the pot himself.

“Senshi’s recipe,” Laios said proudly as Kabru swallowed the last spoonful. “Delicious, isn’t it?”

Everything he had just eaten immediately threatened to come back up. Kabru clamped a hand over his mouth, barely suppressing the urge.

Fortunately, Marcille intervened. “It’s just chicken, I swear!”

Kabru exhaled sharply. “You’ve got to be kidding me… You’re punishing me for last night, aren’t you?”

Kabru was eating with Laios, Marcille, and Falin. Yaad almost always had breakfast with Thistle if he was feeling well enough to get up. And without Yaad’s strictness, Senshi’s wisdom, or Chilchuck’s common sense, this trio was at their most dangerous.

“Speaking of last night,” Marcille practically sang, clearly waiting for the right moment to start questioning him. “Did you and Mithrun have a fight? You were acting weird.”

Kabru sighed, unsure what to say. Maybe if he stayed quiet, he could slip out of this trap?

“I’ve never seen you so insufferable,” Laios added cheerfully.

Kabru looked pleadingly at Falin, but she showed no intention of helping him. She seemed far more interested in her pancakes, generously drizzled with treasure beetle jam.

“I'm surprised he let you off the hook,” Marcille continued. “And he even walked you to your room. Lucky you.”

Kabru recalled the warm weight of a hand on his head, the gentle touch in his hair, and those words that, perhaps, had never been spoken at all.

Lucky, indeed.

And yet, after all that—if it hadn’t been a dream—Mithrun hadn’t shown up for breakfast.

“Do you think he didn’t come because he didn’t want to see me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marcille giggled. “Cithis came by. She and Pattadol were planning to have breakfast with him.”

Kabru suppressed a sigh of relief. He should have figured that out himself. After all, Mithrun had even mentioned bringing them some things from the Northern Central Continent, but Kabru had completely forgotten.

“Alright, I’ll apologize to him later. And to you all as well, for…”

“Oh, come on, it was funny,” Marcille assured him. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

From outside came the sound of hooves and the welcoming calls of the guards—the courier had arrived. That meant the entire research team would likely reach the capital by evening. Right on schedule.

And Kabru had no doubt what that meant.

“We have a hell of a lot of work to do today.”

The courier, having arrived half a day ahead of the team, brought plenty of news, and soon after the rest of the expedition returned as well. Kabru hadn't seen them, but the documents had been delivered to him. By evening, he was buried under a mountain of maps, reports, and notes—as if Holm’s debriefing tomorrow wouldn’t be enough.

But he liked finding details in other people’s observations that others may have missed. And he was grateful for the distraction—spending the entire day in quiet anticipation felt like an eternity. Mithrun, who had just arrived in Melini yesterday, hadn’t even returned for dinner, almost as if it all had been a dream.

Or a nightmare, because Kabru had messed up and behaved undesirably. Had it been so bad that Mithrun wouldn’t even want to see him now?

Just as Kabru was about to ask himself this question for the hundredth time, a rhythmic knocking interrupted the evening silence. The servants were usually more discreet, and Laios, on the contrary, was more insistent, so it could only be the captain.

That thought alone was enough to send Kabru rushing to the door, hastily smoothing down his hair as he went. With a nervous breath, he flung the door open.

“May I come in?” asked the one he’d been thinking about all day.

Kabru immediately stepped aside, allowing Mithrun to enter. With his heart pounding in his chest, he watched his guest casually survey the study.

Today, Mithrun was dressed in a simple outfit reminiscent of the Canaries’ uniform, though in a different color. Dark blue suited him surprisingly well. His hair was pulled back into a low ponytail with the ribbon that Kabru had lent him yesterday, and for some reason, that felt like a good sign.

“I noticed yesterday that your desk was piled high with papers. Not afraid of a familiar attack anymore?”

Kabru barely managed to stifle a gasp of surprise. He hadn’t expected Mithrun to remember even a single line from his letters—and they hadn’t even mentioned the letters at all until now. There was no need to read too much into it, yet this new detail filled Kabru with resolve.

“Thank you for taking care of me yesterday. And forgive me if…”

“No need,” Mithrun waved him off. “It was nothing.”

“Alright,” Kabru exhaled, unable to read anything from his face—Mithrun had turned away as he approached the desk. Kabru awkwardly asked, just to break the silence, “How was your day?”

“I was with Cithis and Pattadol. Mostly rearranged furniture,” Mithrun sighed. Then snorted, “As if teleportation magic was meant for that.”

Kabru laughed, remembering Cithis’s words that they’d have another worker soon. It was a little overconfident and risky to entrust fragile furniture to a captain with such a poor sense of aim. On the other hand, Kabru was certain that not a single cabinet had been damaged today. In a calm environment, Mithrun never missed, demonstrating incredible skill.

“What's this?” his voice pulled Kabru from his thoughts. “More maps?”

“Yes, the research team has returned. There will be an official report and meeting tomorrow, but I don’t like waiting.”

Kabru was torn between a bad feeling and the rational idea that Mithrun’s experience in the dungeons would be invaluable. Yielding to the latter, he offered, “If you want, I can request your presence. I think Laios would not refuse.”

“Alright.”

For someone who had likely come to another country to settle old scores with the Demon, Mithrun agreed too indifferently. He didn’t even linger over the maps, immediately heading for the open window. Kabru followed him as if on a leash and looked out into the darkness, punctuated by the occasional lanterns. A wave of déjà vu washed over him, and he quickly realized why: they were looking out the window together just as they had yesterday, but this time from his office, and the stars outside shone.

“Smells like flowers,” Mithrun said suddenly, so casually as if he always noticed such things.

“Down below is the inner courtyard, and over there, to the right, is the royal garden,” Kabru said with a dismissive wave of his hand, not really knowing why he said it. “It looks like the tuberose has bloomed.”

“Will you show me?”

Even though Kabru had nearly dozed off on his papers just half an hour ago—and still had no desire to drag himself down the narrow stairs—he never thought to refuse. Anticipation and the opportunity to be close to Mithrun drove him forward and filled him with energy. He rushed to the bedroom to grab his vest and a cloak for Mithrun.

“Where did you get all this elven clothing?” Mithrun asked, his tone tinged with suspicion as he examined the finely woven fabric of wool and silk.

“I bought it at the festival along with that tunic,” Kabru explained as he slipped on a linen vest over his shirt. “That’s all, nothing more, I swear.”

“But why?”

“I liked them… I thought they would look good on you,” Kabru admitted. “I was planning to mail them to you, or I was hoping that we’d meet again—I don’t really know.”

Suddenly, Mithrun stepped closer, and Kabru’s heart did a flip, and then another when firm fingers closed around his left wrist. Then the familiar feeling of teleportation followed. For the first time, it was more disappointing than frightening. Mithrun had taken his hand only to teleport him.

The contact vanished as soon as their feet touched the ground.

“This is your first time here!” Kabru hissed, barely holding back a shout. “What if you had missed?!”

“I didn’t miss,” Mithrun replied with a self-assured shrug.

He threw on his cloak and began fussing with its ties. Kabru was about to help him when a rustle in the hydrangea bushes caught his attention.

“Is that a cat?”

The rustling subsided. Amid the dense branches and flower heads, no shadow could be seen.

“A big one,” Mithrun snorted.

Once he’d finally sorted out his cloak, Mithrun headed in the direction opposite the hydrangeas, toward a bench nearby. Just behind it lay a flowerbed of tuberose—the fragrance was almost overwhelming. Kabru followed the captain, deciding he didn’t really want to know what kind of animal was wandering the evening garden. In any case, with Mithrun by his side, he had no reason to fear any monsters, even if they could get close to the Golden Castle.

To his surprise, Mithrun spoke first.

“You don't like that I’m planning to stay in Melini?”

Kabru stared at him, more stunned by the assumption than by the fact that Mithrun had even considered it.

“Not at all!”

“But yesterday you were angry with me.”

Kabru sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. Since when had Mithrun become so observant and interested in other people’s feelings? He shouldn’t have been so endearing as to make Kabru take these changes personally. And Kabru really shouldn't find the elf, who was much older than him, so endearing.

“I just thought...” Kabru began, struggling to find the right words. “I thought that you would have told me something so important first. We spent half a day together, and you didn't say a word about it, as if I…”

“As if you… what?”

As if I don’t mean anything to you at all.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kabru exhaled. He should have been more restrained. “I’m sorry for behaving so insufferably.”

Mithrun sighed and leaned back on the bench, and only then did Kabru realize how tense he had been. He tilted his head back and gazed at the night sky, the starlight reflected in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for not telling you first.”

Kabru blushed.

“It’s fine. I really shouldn’t have reacted that way,” he mumbled, barely hearing himself. “I’m glad you’re not angry with me.”

“Actually, I am angry,” Mithrun suddenly said. “But not about yesterday.”

“What?” Kabru was taken aback.

“Which hand did you injure? You grabbed the dagger with your right, didn’t you?”

Mithrun touched his hand again, this time gently running his thumb along Kabru’s right palm. Kabru didn’t immediately remember which injury he was talking about; the incident with the dwarf cultists seemed like an eternity ago.

“There isn’t even a scar left,” he muttered, barely hearing his own voice over the thumping of his racing pulse.

“It could have ended worse,” Mithrun insisted as he continued stroking his palm. “Now, the connection between the soul and the dead body is completely weakened—you wouldn’t be able to be resurrected.”

“That's common on the surface, actually.”

“Yes, but it seems like you don’t even remember that. I gave you that information to keep you safe, not for you to take unnecessary risks.”

Strangely, there was genuine concern in Mithrun’s voice, and it made Kabru’s head pound even harder. Even though Cithis had warned him to keep his reckless stunt a secret from the captain, Kabru had never imagined that he actually cared.

“Looks like I owe you an apology for the second time tonight,” Kabru said with a guilty smile.

“Better to promise me you won’t put yourself at risk like that again.”

“I promise,” Kabru replied, not feeling entirely confident.

The touch, which had been a fleeting display of concern, lingered and became all too awkward. Still, Kabru didn’t want to pull his hand away, even though he had no idea what Mithrun was thinking. Perhaps he simply didn’t consider it intimate anymore, having long since lost any sense of personal boundaries. All Kabru knew was that it gave him false hope, yet it made him happy.

“Ah, Kabru! Mithrun!” Falin’s voice shattered the moment. Mithrun immediately let go of his hand, as if he understood the value of such touches after all. Or perhaps it was instinct? Kabru didn’t know what to think.

“Have you seen Thistle? I usually pick him up here at this time, but today…”

“Today, we’re here,” Kabru said, springing up from the bench. “He wasn’t here when we arrived.”

“Or maybe he was,” Mithrun said, pointing at the hydrangea bed. “It seems he didn’t want to run into me and ran off over there.”

How did he notice that it wasn’t a cat? And why did he stay quiet about it?

“Thistle avoids new people,” Falin sighed.

“I think it’s specifically about me,” Mithrun said simply.

Kabru sighed. Most likely, Mithrun was right. Back on the first floor, he’d said many unpleasant but truthful things to the Dungeon Lord. And Thistle still rejected that truth, though there were occasional moments of insight. But Falin didn’t remember that, and there was a question in her eyes.

“Falin, shall we go look for him together? And you…”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Mithrun said, and immediately vanished.

Kabru let out a heavy sigh—he was terribly tired, and he still had the search for Thistle and returning to the castle on his own to look forward to. Falin cast him a questioning glance, and he had to explain.

“Looks like I’ll have to climb back up those damn stairs…”

Chapter Text

“As you already know, we have discovered four entrances so far. The first on the westernmost side is located on the outskirts of an orc settlement and is already under their guard. Monsters on the first floor, and especially on the surface, have not appeared. They're afraid of even the scent of wargs.”

For now, we don’t need to worry about this entrance, as adventurers will likely venture there only as a last resort, Kabru thought. And Chief Zon won't be interested in the Dungeon as long as his people remain comfortable on the surface. Laios has been making efforts to ensure that, in accordance with his vision of what his kingdom should be like.

“The situation with the second entrance is similar: it's only a few miles from the western one. However, there are no guards there, and we have discovered signs that it has already been explored—there were signs of a struggle on the second floor. It seems that adventurers were attacked by a cockatrice.”

A sigh of envy was heard—Laios seemed on the verge of tears from the desire to be that very adventurer who got attacked. Moreover, sketches of monsters were already decorating the margins of important documents. The seemingly careless doodles were so recognizable that Kabru could identify them even from across the round table. He rolled his eyes, summoning all his patience.

“However, judging by the absence of corpses, it seems they decided to retreat,” Holm continued. “It’s unclear whether they found any treasure or not. Contrary to expectations, we haven’t found a single gold coin or artifact on the first floor. I’ll get ahead of myself and say that this is the situation everywhere. It looks as though the Dungeon had long been looted—we suspect the reason lies in its foundation. It shares the same origins as the Island. The ancient dwarven ruins remain, but the entity that could grant wishes has yet to appear. The Dungeon is empty, filled only with monsters that can survive without outside interference.”

Kabru had arrived at the same conclusion after studying numerous eyewitness reports and the research team’s findings.

“There is another possibility,” Mithrun suddenly said from Kabru’s left. “The Dungeon has already developed to the third floor, we need to explore deeper.”

“Aren't things supposed to progress in order?” Marcille disagreed. “The first stage of development is the formation of the first and second floors, followed by an influx of adventurers, because the third floor requires a large number of human desires. But right now, there hasn’t been any noticeable spike in activity.”

“No one ever said the Demon couldn’t change tactics.”

Laios’s voice carried such weight that, for a moment, Kabru felt uneasy. He clasped his fingers tightly together, trying not to succumb to a sense of foreboding. It didn’t go unnoticed by Mithrun—Kabru thought he caught a heavy glance directed at his hands.

“Allow me to add another detail,” Holm continued. “Magic in the South is still unstable. Mana levels are high even on the surface, high enough for even large monsters to survive there. That hasn’t happened yet, but…”

“But people from the settlement closest to the southernmost entrance have been plagued by Nightmares and illusions,” Rin interrupted Holm’s formal report. “That’s how we explain all the reports of monster attacks. We haven’t found any physical evidence proving that direwolves have been actually preying on livestock or that mermaids attacked the fishermen.”

“This seems like an anomaly,” Mr. Tansu interjected. “And no wonder—I’ve never heard of anyone devouring a Demon before. It should be no surprise that the Dungeon is behaving unpredictably.”

This thought had crossed Kabru’s mind as well. Given that this was happening in Melini, a land subjected to so many spells and transformations, it would be foolish to expect things to follow the usual patterns.

“It appears so,” Yaad admitted.

“We need to gather more information,” Mr. Tansu concluded.

“But every expedition attracts attention,” Marcille pointed out. “And in doing so, we risk—”

“And when has risk ever stopped you? I don’t recall that ever being a problem.”

“Of course, we can’t remain in ignorance, but…”

The exchange of opinions quickly escalated into an argument, and before long, complete chaos broke out—Mr. Tansu scolding the youth, Falin fantasizing about an excursion into the dungeon, and Laios pushing for the establishment of golem farms in the South, now that the high mana density could sustain it.

Yaad immediately called Laios to order, scolding him for his carelessness and for straying from the meeting’s agenda, sparing Kabru from having to intervene himself.

“Hey,” Mithrun suddenly called, moving closer and tugging Kabru by the shoulder. “Is it always like this for you?”

Kabru immediately tuned out the commotion around him, focusing only on the whisper and the warm breath brushing against his ear. Gathering his composure, he replied, his lips nearly grazing the captain’s cheek.

“I’d like to say it only happens occasionally, but honestly, it’s quite frequent.”

Never before had it bothered Kabru as little as it did now, with Mithrun sitting so close, almost pressing against him to catch every word. It felt like they were in a world of their own, just the two of them…

“Alright, let’s take a lunch break and calm down!!!” Laios suddenly bellowed.

And just like that, it worked.

“You have quite the lively group,” Mithrun murmured, though his face showed no trace of amusement.

“I never would have thought he’d return to Melini.”

Rin struck without warning. One moment, she was sinking into a plush library chair, relaxed and exhausted, while Kabru was busy trying to find the spell she needed, and the next, her words made him forget what he had been looking for.

“I even doubted he’d respond to your letter.”

“Yes, I remember your cruel words,” Kabru said with feigned sorrow, quickly regaining his composure.

“But the strangest thing,” Rin continued, “is that I’m not surprised at all.”

“Oh?” Kabru huffed.

Even after a long journey, Rin looked impeccable, with no trace of fatigue on her face or in the precision of her gestures. There was an unusual softness in her eyes, mixed with suspicion.

“I see that you're happy.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he replied easily, flipping through the pages again. “I’m busy, you’re all back safe and sound, and my friends are with me. And we’ll deal with the dungeon.”

“But when he left, you were miserable.”

“I wasn’t…”

“Oh, come on, Kabru,” Rin said, her voice unexpectedly gentle but firm. “I’ve never seen you like that. Never.”

Kabru set the book aside and raised his hands in surrender. He had no desire to argue, nor did he want to have a heart-to-heart conversation. There was too much work to do, and besides, he always tried not to tell Rin things she wouldn’t like. And she wouldn’t like this.

Oh, Kabru knew very well what she wouldn’t like, even if she was already beginning to suspect it—and, surprisingly—hadn’t yet twisted his ears off while reprimanding him.

“Let’s drop the subject. Let’s talk about your journey instead.”

“We’ve been talking about work all day, Kabru. I can’t take it anymore.”

They really had been talking about work all day. Arguing, clarifying facts, arguing again, and then, by evening, only the council members remained. Mithrun had gone somewhere, and Rin had settled in the library and waited.

Perhaps, in a week, the research team would have to be sent back. Perhaps it was a bad decision: the team wouldn’t have enough time to rest and recover, and the suppliers wouldn’t have enough time to gather everything they needed. Perhaps they needed to recruit more experienced adventurers, which meant drastically increasing funding. Perhaps they should form several smaller groups to avoid attracting too much attention on the surface. Perhaps they had already made a mistake when…

“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re thinking about the Dungeon again. Stop it.”

If only it were that easy! Kabru tiredly rubbed his face and tousled his hair, trying to wake himself up. After all, he needed his wits about him to avoid falling into Rin’s trap, who was unusually talkative today. It seemed things with Kaka were going wonderfully, and now she believed she could spread her joy by meddling in Kabru’s personal life too.

“You’re better off thinking about the Captain of the Canaries. You’ll look like an idiot, but at least you won’t be tearing your hair out.”

Alright, so Rin wasn’t just suspecting things. She was completely sure. And yet, she still hadn’t twisted his ears off.

“Stop teasing me,” Kabru pleaded. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Daya’s wedding is in three days,” Rin relented. “You’re not going to miss it, are you?”

The wedding was in three days, which meant they’d need to leave for Kahka Brud the day after tomorrow, no later than noon. And before then, he’d have to make all the preparations for his absence. Terrible timing, given how much work needed to be done right now, and he really didn’t want to leave Melini, even for a short time.

“I’ll be there. Of course, mainly because I can’t miss Daya’s wedding, but I’ll also be of use to the state there. You know her relatives…”

“Yes, yes. More importantly—have you invited the captain to come with you?”

Kabru stared at her as if she were a talking unicorn. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He had completely forgotten that he could bring someone else along since Rin had found herself another partner. And he certainly hadn’t planned to invite Mithrun, but... why not?

“You’re a genius. Simply a genius!” Kabru leaped up and rushed to hug her.

Rin muttered disapprovingly, burying her face in his shoulder:

“I knew it. You do like him after all. Idiot.”

Before going to sleep, Kabru mulled over ways to invite the captain to come with him to Kahka Brud, and more importantly, how to make sure he would accept. He had free time on his side: Mithrun, having just arrived and not yet settled into any responsibilities, should have plenty of it. But common sense was against him: would Mithrun want to spend a day jostling in a carriage or riding on horseback just to attend a celebration where he barely knew anyone? Just to keep Kabru company? Why would he…?

Sleep still wouldn’t come, and a suspicion crept into Kabru’s mind: was Mithrun lying awake too in his quarters, tossing and turning? Had his insomnia passed, or was he still forced to drink sleeping potions? It was irresponsible and foolish of Kabru to only think about this now. He should have asked him that first day, and if necessary, taken matters into his own hands again. Just like back in the Dungeon, when the only option had been to wrap his fingers around that narrow, elegant foot, and with perfectly measured pressure, knead, rub, warm it…

But before Kabru could work himself up any further, crawl out of his warm bed, get dressed, and go check, he finally managed to drift off to sleep.

Chapter Text

"Are you still struggling with insomnia?"

Kabru had thought about asking before, but it wasn’t until they were already halfway to Kahka Brud—and Mithrun still hadn’t fallen asleep despite the gently rocking carriage and their early departure—that Kabru finally decided to ask the question.

"Sometimes I manage to sleep without potions."

Even his voice sounded sleepy, but despite that, Mithrun sat across from him like a stone statue, not even allowing his eyelids to flutter. At first, Kabru had tried to entertain him with conversation, but then he decided to leave him alone and give him a chance to rest. However, Mithrun hadn’t taken that opportunity.

"We still have half the journey ahead. Try to sleep, the time will pass faster."

Mithrun stared at him, unblinking, before saying:

"I don't think I can. You know that."

"Then… can I help?"

Mithrun tilted his head to the side, as though seriously considering it, and Kabru belatedly realized that he should have squeezed into the carriage with Rin, Holm, and Kaka. It would have been cramped, but at least it would have been safer—especially for his heart, which kept searching for signs that something... was happening between him and Mithrun.

All of Kabru’s carefully prepared arguments for why Mithrun should attend Daya’s wedding had been unnecessary—the moment Kabru extended the invitation, Mithrun had accepted. Not even the long, bumpy ride had deterred him. Kabru still couldn’t understand what prompted such obedience. And why Mithrun let him cross boundaries so easily, so willingly.

And now, as though finally reaching some interesting conclusion, Mithrun smirked—and placed his foot on the seat, right between Kabru’s parted thighs.

"Will you help?" Mithrun asked, as if enjoying the situation.

Or perhaps enjoying Kabru’s reaction, as he stared at the slender ankle encased in leather, wanting nothing more than to pull off the boot, run his fingers along the arch of Mithrun’s foot, and wrap his hand around his ankle. He knew he could easily encircle it. He knew that with certainty.

"Or… is that too much?"

There was something in his tone that sounded like a challenge, or perhaps playful teasing. Was Mithrun… flirting? Or simply joking, unaware of what Kabru was truly feeling?

"Actually," Kabru said with difficulty, knowing he couldn’t afford to agree. Touching Mithrun while confined in such a small space was too dangerous—his groin had already tightened from the mere provocation. "Actually, I learned a spell. I think it will work."

The tension in the air dissipated instantly. Mithrun blinked a few times, withdrew his leg, and leaned back into the soft seat of the carriage. He exhaled tiredly.

"Let’s test it out."

Proud of his own rational thinking yet regretting his hesitation at the same time, Kabru moved closer, placing his palm on Mithrun’s sharp knee. Mithrun shuddered slightly and closed his eyes, almost as if granting permission.

Kabru recalled all the lessons from Falin, who had taught him when he had asked. Back then, he hadn’t known if he’d ever have a reason to use this mental spell—too weak to use against enemies in battle and too complex for him to master on his own. At the time, he never dared hope that one day he’d have the chance to use it on Mithrun. Yet for some reason, he had kept practicing until he succeeded.

Perhaps, deep down, he had always hoped Mithrun would return. And that when he did, Kabru would be useful enough to stay by his side.

The spell worked. Mithrun fell asleep within five minutes, in such an uncomfortable position that Kabru’s own neck ached phantomly from the sight. And yet, he was afraid to offer his shoulder or lay his head on his lap—that felt far too dangerous.

Kabru’s heart might not survive it.

"What did that bastard want?"

That was the first thing Mithrun asked when Kabru finally managed to shake off the relentless attention of the Shadow Governor himself. The man hadn’t left his side for the past half hour, trying to smooth things over and make amends for that long-ago incident with the Dungeon. But when Kabru headed toward the table where the captain was sitting, the Governor dared not follow. He remembered all too well how long it had taken to pry him out of stone last time.

"Preferential treatment from one of the King's closest," Kabru muttered under his breath. "But he won’t get anything."

Mithrun grunted approvingly and shifted his gaze to the lively crowd dancing the night away. Kabru spotted Kaka and Rin among the couples, Mickbell with an unfamiliar dwarf woman, and, of course, Daya and Artos. Finally, all the formalities were forgotten, and the musicians never stopped playing for a moment. The celebration was a success: the bride looked stunning, her husband seemed to be the happiest man on the Eastern continent, and the guests were all in high spirits. Because Daya was a relative of the Shadow Governor of the Island, the wedding was a grand affair, attended by several highly influential figures. Kabru had taken the opportunity to speak with anyone who might prove useful to him.

All the while, as he engaged in small talk, Kabru could feel Mithrun’s gaze on him. The captain had refused to accompany him, not wanting to interfere with business matters, but he had watched Kabru intently. He quietly sat at the table, only occasionally engaging in conversation with those who initiated it, though he didn’t seem displeased. It was a relief, but Kabru wished he could genuinely have fun.

"Captain, do you know how to dance?"

"I used to enjoy it. But now… I have no desire to."

Despite his initial impulse, Kabru didn’t try to convince him. Something in Mithrun’s expression—the faint press of lips, or the slightest hint of fatigue— told him it was better not to insist. Besides, the moment Kabru stepped onto the dance floor, he would be swept away into ten more dances, just like at the Summer Solstice celebration, and he didn’t want to leave the captain alone again.

"Then... what should we do?"

Mithrun shrugged and silently stared off into the distance. Beyond the cozy space set aside for the wedding—the lavishly decorated banquet tables, the dance floor, the glowing lanterns and garlands—lay the open steppe, blooming with wildflowers. A small hill stood nearby, likely with a breathtaking view.

"Let’s go."

Kabru forced him to leave his comfortable spot and pulled him along. To avoid getting separated in the crowd, he took Mithrun’s hand, gripping his dry palm firmly. Mithrun didn’t resist, and only when they left the celebration behind and began to make their way through the tall grass did he ask:

"Where do you want to go? I can teleport us."

"No need, save your mana. Besides, we’re almost there."

He didn’t let go of Mithrun’s hand, and Mithrun didn’t pull away. They continued walking together through the fragrant wildflowers until they reached the top of the small hill. From there, they could see the wedding tents, the light from countless magical lanterns, and the laughing, happy crowd. But beyond that, they could see the sky, glittering with endless stars.

Kabru unclasped his cloak with one hand and tossed it onto the ground. They sat on top of it, still holding hands, though there was no practical reason for it. It was frankly strange, but Mithrun didn’t seem to notice. And Kabru didn’t want to notice either—his heart resisted, and his mind was utterly blank, but not from the single glass of wine he’d had.

The music was only a faint hum in the distance, drowned out by the chirping of summer crickets.

"I hope this is better," Kabru said quietly. "You seemed a bit tired."

"No more than you," Mithrun replied. "Though, I’ll admit, I got a little bored while you were entertaining all those noblemen.”

"Sorry. I promised it would be fun, and I..."

"It’s fun enough now," Mithrun suddenly smiled, and Kabru instinctively squeezed his hand tighter, struggling against the overwhelming urge to kiss him right then and there. After all, their fingers were intertwined, and Mithrun wasn’t pulling away. He was smiling, even though he should have been angry, and…

Didn’t that mean he felt the same…?

"The sky here is beautiful," Mithrun said, looking toward the horizon. "It’s not like this on the Western continent, these stars..."

"So close, it feels like you could reach out and touch them."

"Exactly."

Kabru lay down, flattening the grass beneath him, and pulled Mithrun down beside him so that they could see nothing but the starry sky. Once again, Mithrun yielded, stretching out beside him without breaking their touch.

"I’m really glad you’re here."

Kabru wasn’t even sure what he meant: just this moment, or Mithrun’s return to Melini. Probably both.

"When I saw my brother," Mithrun suddenly said, having mastered the art of changing the subject, "the children gave me a drawing. The sky looked just like this, only painted. It’s strange that I found it again here.”

"Your visit to your brother... you wrote about it. Did everything really go well?"

"Why do you think it didn’t?"

He’d caught on. Kabru remembered the confused, emotionally mixed letter from Mithrun, and the worry it had left him with. At the time, it seemed like the meeting with his older brother and his family could have broken Mithrun, but instead, he had crossed an ocean and appeared in Melini. Alive and well, healthier than Kabru remembered him, and that had been enough to keep him from asking any more questions. But since he had brought it up…

"Your relationship has always been complicated. And you loved his wife, even lived with her image for years in the Dungeon. Wasn’t that… painful?"

"Not anymore. It doesn’t matter anymore."

"What does matter?"

Kabru leaned over him, uncertain if he was ready to hear the answer. What if he had misunderstood everything, and Mithrun hadn’t come to Melini to be with him at all? There could be a hundred other reasons—from wanting to start a new life in a reborn kingdom like himself, to pursuing the Demon once again. And yet… so many things pointed to his feelings, giving Kabru hope.

"I spoke with Rinsha."

Kabru let go of his hand in surprise—his fingers were slightly damp and trembling. The warm summer evening suddenly felt cold and stifling.

Rin wouldn’t have betrayed him, right? She sometimes went overboard with her overprotectiveness, always trying to lecture him like an older sister, but she wouldn’t have…

"I’m joining the research team."

Kabru recoiled and jumped to his feet, desperate to escape yet feeling as though he had sunk into the earth. It would have been better if Rin had meddled in his personal life—anything would have been better than this. No. She would never have invited Mithrun to join the team, and even then, her invitation alone would have meant nothing. This was clearly Mithrun’s own desire. From the beginning, that’s why he had come back.

Of course.

Kabru felt like a fool. No one had deceived him—he had simply seen something in their relationship that wasn’t there. Again. Just like the last time, when Mithrun had boarded a ship and left him behind.

"Kabru! There you are!"

The last thing he wanted right now was to see anyone, let alone have a conversation. But the urgency in Holm’s expression and Rin’s pale face behind him kept him from reacting with anger. A sharp pang of anxiety clenched his chest, and his personal turmoil was immediately pushed aside.

"What happened?"

"You need to return to the castle immediately," Rin said, stepping closer. Lowering her voice, she added, "An attempt was made on Minister Yaad’s life."

Chapter Text

They returned to the capital by midday the next day.

Thanks to Mithrun, they managed to leave the wedding unnoticed so that no one would suspect that something had happened at the castle. Any rumors could shake the stability of the state, so they left without saying goodbye—they teleported to the nearest road where a messenger was already waiting with two horses.

The last time Kabru had ridden was back at Milsiril’s estate, and although he loved horses and wasn't the worst rider as a child, the break had taken its toll. By the end of their journey, his whole body ached terribly, and the inside of his thighs felt as if they had been rubbed raw. Mithrun, despite Kabru’s concern, held the saddle much better—light and graceful, he seemed to be one with the animal. Surely, his family had their own stable, and he probably spent a lot of time there as a child. Kabru didn't know for sure, as they hadn’t exchanged a word the entire journey, only sharing water and stopping twice for a quick rest to avoid wearing out the horses.

Truth be told, there was no reason to hurry this much. Neither of them could have alleviated Yaad’s condition, who was already being attended to by Falin and Marcille. But the uncertainty and anxiety drove Kabru forward—there was almost no information in Laios’s letter, delivered by a messenger.

It wasn’t until they arrived at the castle that Mithrun said, helping him dismount:

“I’m sure he’s already fine.”

Kabru took his hand and almost fell, tumbling out of the saddle. He could barely feel his legs, so Mithrun’s support and strong grip came in handy. For a moment, Kabru forgot himself, holding on to him and almost asking aloud to stay like that a little longer, but quickly regained his composure.

Marcille was running toward them, and she looked... no worse than usual.

“We weren’t expecting you until evening,” she spoke first. “There was no need to rush!”

“But Yaad…”

“Yaad has already come to and is almost recovered,” Marcille assured them. “Thanks to Laios, we were able to quickly identify the poison on the dagger, and I prepared an antidote. Falin’s spells helped minimize the damage to his body, so…”

Kabru followed her on stiff legs, trying to ignore the pain and taking as wide a stride as he could. Mithrun walked slightly behind, as if preparing to catch him if necessary, but Kabru wasn’t going to show any more weakness.

“You really shouldn’t have returned early. We sent the messenger only to warn you of possible danger.”

“Danger? To warn us?” Kabru asked again.

Marcille turned around in surprise.

“Didn’t Laios write to you? Oh, the idiot! The attacker was one of the cultists we caught not long ago. So we thought that they might be hunting you even… Oh!”

Marcille’s eyes widened as she realized she had let something slip.

“Most logical,” Mithrun finished for her. “I already know this story, full of rash but heroic decisions.”

His tone was colder than ice. Marcille giggled nervously and quickened her pace, while Kabru was overcome with anger: why this show of concern? Why pretend to care when you’re planning to leave someone alone and risk your life at the other end of the kingdom? Marcille’s story had already faded into the background. Kabru gritted his teeth, biting back his thoughts about Mithrun’s hypocrisy.

Marcille, sensing their mood, didn’t say another word. As soon as they entered the castle, she frowned and looked them over from head to toe, and declared:

“Don’t even think about going any further like this. Yaad will be asleep until evening, so visiting is prohibited. You’d better head to the baths right away—fresh clothes will be brought to you.”

“No, wait, I need to know how it all happened, talk to Laios, or…”

“Sorry, Kabru, but you both stink,” she said bluntly. “You don’t want to appear before the king like this, do you?”

Yaad had been attacked right in the royal garden during afternoon tea with Thistle—the new gardener had first started talking about the weather and then pulled out a dagger. Yaad hadn’t been able to stop him, just barely dodging enough so the blow didn’t hit any vital organs—fortunately, Thistle had been able to neutralize the criminal. His magic was still unstable and weak, but it was enough to protect them both and immobilize the attacker, after which he called Falin for help.

They were lucky: no one could have imagined that Thistle was still capable of acting so decisively and consciously. They were also fortunate that the assailant had coated the dagger with poison from the glands of a monster instead of choosing something more conventional. Laios had immediately recognized the symptoms of wyvern poisoning, buying them precious time.

Laios himself told them all this as he brought them their clothes. Kabru just laughed at how Marcille wouldn't let them appear unwashed before the king, but naked and wet wasn't a problem. She had even sent Laios instead of servants! Still, Kabru was grateful. The uncertainty was driving him crazy as much as the need to be alone with Mithrun.

However, Laios didn’t stay long: he quickly explained everything and left, complaining about the stuffiness. Then they were alone again.

“You’re angry with me again.”

Kabru didn’t want to talk about it. After Laios had told them everything, there was finally space in his mind to think about something other than the assassination attempt on the kingdom’s second-in-command—but he still couldn’t think clearly.

“I’m tired. I don’t want to talk about it now.”

He wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t telling the whole truth either: he had something to say. He could have asked Mithrun directly why his actions were so inconsistent, why he was planning to leave again, recalling his hatred for the Demon if he himself had wanted to return? When he was almost able to live a normal life. Kabru could say a lot, like how terribly afraid he was that something worse could happen to Mithrun in the Dungeon, or that he didn’t want to let him go, or remind him that Mithrun was planning to open a noodle shop and it was about time to get on with it. But Kabru could barely think straight from exhaustion and stress and might say things he would regret. It was better to think everything through and come back to it later.

Or just let Mithrun live his life—let him go wherever he wants, even to the Dungeon! After all, as a resident of Melini and an assistant to the minister, Kabru should be grateful: Mithrun’s contribution would be invaluable and beneficial to the kingdom. Everything pointed to the fact that the Dungeon needed to be studied in small, inconspicuous groups. An adventurer stronger and more experienced than Mithrun, who could replace an entire squad, simply cannot be found.

Kabru’s head ached and his heart was torn from these attempts to think rationally. And his legs and thighs were terribly sore, and the hot water only made it worse—so in the end, he got out of the bath after less than ten minutes. To hell with it.

“Wait.”

Kabru did not stop: he walked into the changing room where he quickly wiped himself down with a towel and pulled on a shirt and underwear. The pants were a bigger problem, but there was no choice. He sat down, preparing to pull them over his irritated skin. There weren’t any open wounds, though it certainly felt like it.

“Hold on!” Mithrun stopped him.

He had managed to wrap himself awkwardly in a towel, but he hadn’t even dried off: water kept dripping from his hair, and wet footprints remained on the floor. Kabru stared at the floor, marked by his small, delicate feet, and was surprised that even that seemed beautiful to him. Even when his heart was broken, and his feelings were ruled by anger and resentment.

“Just let me.”

Mithrun took the pants from his hands and threw them on the bench, then knelt in front of him. Not to look at his face as Kabru had initially thought. Mithrun placed both palms on his knees, forcing him to tense up, and whispered a spell. It ran through him from head to toe with a cold, unpleasant tickle and vanished—along with the burning itch and pain.

“Now you can go,” Mithrun said, quickly removing his hands, and stood up. “We’ll talk later.”

He left the dressing room, and only then did Kabru realize he had not breathed since the moment Mithrun touched him. It hurt.

Yaad regained consciousness by evening, as Marcille had said. He looked unwell, as if he had aged another ten years, but not like someone on the verge of dying. By the next day, his appetite returned, and his complexion improved, and within another day, he demanded to be released from the confines of his blankets and allowed to return to work. Kabru took pity on him and brought the most urgent papers straight to his bed.

In truth, Thistle turned out to be a far bigger problem: he had not eaten a crumb during this time, left Yaad's bedside only when absolutely necessary, and hadn't spoken a word. He only looked out the window day and night with indifference, and when he thought no one was watching, he would glance at Yaad. It was only during these moments that something appeared in his eyes, the fear of loss flaring up in them.

It seemed that his condition was affecting Yaad himself, who was terribly worried, and the others as well: Marcille's smiles faded, remembering her fear of outliving her friends, and neither Laios nor Falin could shake her out of it. Kabru himself was surprised to realize that he understood Thistle's feelings very well. Of course, not completely, but he still felt cornered whenever he thought of Mithrun, who had not given up on his idea of heading into the Dungeon.

Not that Kabru tried to convince him otherwise. He hadn't brought it up at all, avoiding Mithrun under the guise of piled-up duties: he had to work for two to ensure that the minister's temporary incapacitation didn't affect the state. Moreover, he had to deal with strengthening the castle's security and investigating the cultist case again, as it seemed they hadn't caught them all.

And yet, the biggest issue was Thistle's condition. Falin’s spells were keeping his strength up, but it couldn't go on forever. And no amount of persuasion helped.

Kabru couldn't just leave him like this.

"Your magic can help, right? He'll eat, under the illusion."

Neither Falin nor Marcille had agreed to this: neither of them had enough skill in magic involving the psyche to not cause harm. However, it was Cithis's specialty, who, furthermore, wasn't burdened by ethical concerns.

She smirked, casually examining her manicure.

"I don't know... Will I get anything in return?"

Pattadol, sitting on the other side of the coffee table, snorted discontentedly. Kabru had no doubt that if it were within her power, she would have helped without any conditions. But he was still grateful to Cithis: she didn't refuse immediately, just decided to play a little.

"Maybe my gratitude?" Kabru smiled with all his charm. "Or, if mine is not enough, then that of the king and the prime minister of Melini?"

"I don't know... that sounds boring."

"Does gratitude need to be expressed materially?" Kabru threw out the bait.

Cithis glanced around the royal reception hall, as if assessing the rich furnishings. Kabru had intentionally invited them to the most elegant, worthy-of-the-highest-persons hall to emphasize the importance of his request. Now he wondered if he'd so easily be able to give her something from the room if she set her eyes on it.

To his surprise, or perhaps his hopes, Cithis only grimaced.

"Where are your manners? Is this how you offer money? And in front of witnesses?"

Pattadol rolled her eyes, and it finally dawned on Kabru: Cithis was simply in a bad mood. Just like the time he gave them a housewarming gift, she wanted to nudge him toward something specific but didn’t want to say it directly. But now, she was far more irritable.

"Then how should I repay you?" Kabru asked bluntly.

Cithis coolly crossed one leg over the other and said:

"What I need is for the captain to stay out of the Dungeons."

A nervous laugh escaped Kabru.

"We want the same thing, but what can I do?"

Cithis stared at him unkindly, as if he were an idiot. Thankfully, Pattadol intervened for the first time in the conversation.

"We were hoping the captain would settle in the capital and forget about the Demon. Is your research team really that short on adventurers?"

"That's not it," Kabru countered. "And no one invited him there. Especially not me."

"How did it even happen?" Cithis asked irritably. "Where were you looking?"

Her conviction that he was still supposed to be the caretaker irritated Kabru less than her strange belief that he had any influence over Mithrun. He felt anger boiling up inside him and did not hold it back.

"As if anything depended on me! He made the decision himself. I’m not happy, but what now? Why do you think he’ll listen to me?"

"Who else, if not you?"

Kabru wanted to scream or break something. From the moment he arrived, Cithis had been hinting that he was special to the captain, and he had almost believed it—and yet, here he was now. Lost in yet another shattered illusion, confused and heartbroken.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he downed his cup of tea, forgetting his manners, and stared heavily at Cithis. She pressed on, insisting:

"Stop him. Then I will help with Thistle."

Kabru just shrugged. As if he didn’t want to stop the captain himself, without her prompting…

As if he didn’t want to.

Chapter Text

He never fulfilled Cithis’s condition. Mithrun departed at dawn with the research team, and Kabru watched as the orderly column passed beyond the fortress walls. His heart was restless, yet worrying was pointless. If anyone knew just how strong the former captain of the Canaries was and how well-prepared he had always been, it was Kabru.

Truth be told, Kabru did not believe there were any words that could make Mithrun stay. That’s why he hadn’t even tried, leaving everything to chance. The night before the departure, they did not cross paths, and Kabru had resigned himself to that.

Since he could not count on Cithis’s help—she was unlikely that she would change her mind, at least not immediately—Kabru decided to talk to Thistle himself. Maybe, if he poured all his persuasion into it, Thistle would agree to eat at least a little?

He intercepted the breakfast tray from Falin just as she reached the door of Thistle’s quarters.

“It’d be better if you had breakfast with Marcille and your brother. They must have missed you terribly.”

Lately, Falin had been stretched thin between treating Yaad, keeping up Thistle’s energy, and comforting a downcast Marcille.

“I’ll watch over him.”

“Thank you, Kabru,” Falin said, handing over the tray without hesitation. “Yaad is already feeling better, so he was planning to come down for breakfast too. Thistle finally slept away from his bedside last night.”

Kabru wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one, but there was no time to dwell on it. He smiled gratefully at Falin as she kindly held the door open for him.

The room was dim and somber, with only a sliver of morning light breaking through a gap in the half-drawn curtains. Kabru set the tray on the small table by the entrance and walked toward the window, pulling the fabric aside to let in the fresh air and sunlight.

It helped—the room brightened enough for him to see Thistle’s face, now scrunched in a comical squint.

“Good morning,” Kabru said, pausing near the bed. “Sorry if I woke you, but it’s time for breakfast.”

“It’s fine,” Thistle replied, surprising Kabru, who had expected only silence in response.

His gaze was strange—curious, almost, a look he rarely showed. Even more so now, after the attempt on Yaad’s life. And certainly not toward Kabru.

“Are you hungry?”

Thistle shook his head. Kabru sighed. There were shadows under Thistle’s eyes, his skin looked unhealthy, and his usually childlike round face had become gaunt. This couldn’t go on. They weren’t particularly close, but Kabru had always sympathized with Thistle’s fate—it affected them all. He didn’t want to see Yaad suffer, for whom Thistle was a link to his father and grandfather, to both the happy and painful past. Thistle had also once saved his life, curing him of a fever when he was a baby and protected the kingdom. Kabru didn’t want to watch Marcille cry when she thought no one was watching, imagining an inevitable future that she shouldn’t have to face so soon. She deserved to be happy for years to come.

A human life may seem fleeting compared to the long-lived races, but perhaps that fleeting nature held its own unique beauty. Kabru understood this. In just twenty-one years, he had seen much, experienced much. And he was human.

“Listen, I understand that after what happened to Yaad, you’re afraid,” Kabru spoke directly. He knew Thistle wouldn’t tolerate evasiveness; he simply wouldn’t listen. “Up here, on the surface, we’re all mortal—and that’s for the best. Once, you did everything you could to keep everyone in the kingdom alive. You know where that led. But now, they are happy. Yaad is happy to live out the remainder of his life here and die like an ordinary man.”

Thistle remained silent. It seemed Kabru’s words didn’t pain him—not like they once would have. Before, he wouldn’t even allow Yaad’s name to be spoken instead of Delgal’s, and lately, he hadn’t wanted to listen to anything at all.

“We have strengthened security. Nothing like that will happen again. I promise, Yaad will live a long life. With you, if you start eating properly.”

Finally, he simply said:

“Today’s breakfast is porridge. Please, eat at least a few spoonfuls.”

Kabru infused his voice with both patience and insistence. How many times had he used this tone with the captain? Though, in those cases, it wasn’t to convince him to eat. Mithrun had always eaten whatever Kabru put in front of him without complaint. But this was different. Thoughts of Mithrun were untimely and unwelcome—right now, Thistle was in front of him, and his situation…

“Alright. Perhaps I will eat a little.”

At first, Kabru thought he’d misheard. His surprise must have been clearly reflected on his face, because Thistle found it necessary to clarify:

“Don’t think your rambling convinced me. I had an unpleasant guest last night, and he said that even if I can barely eat my once-favorite pastries now, I might find myself wanting porridge for breakfast later.”

A guest? Last night? If it had been someone dangerous, he wouldn’t have said something so… so simple, yet important. So who…?

“He said that desires are born again, and he knows this for sure. He was once a dungeon lord himself.”

Kabru gasped, unsure what shocked him more—the fact that Thistle was speaking so much, the revelation that Mithrun had visited him, or the very essence of his words: desires are born again.

And: he knows it for sure.

Kabru felt tears welling in the corners of his eyes and hastily turned away. He rushed to the tray and grabbed a bowl of porridge.

“Come on, eat while it’s still warm.”

Thistle obediently took the spoon, scooped up just a little—too little—but still put the porridge in his mouth and began to chew diligently.

Kabru’s heart pounded: Mithrun had really said what he said. So that meant… now he, too, could desire something? To return to Melini, to gaze at the night sky together, to venture into that damned Dungeon… Everything had already pointed to Mithrun getting much better. But knowing it for certain was a thousand times more satisfying than just speculating.

Thistle finally swallowed the porridge and took another spoonful—this time, a full one. What else could Mithrun have said to make this happen? Thistle was actually eating, and he looked far more alive than before. But his main issue had never seemed to be a lack of desires. So how had Mithrun managed to get through to him?

“I see you’re curious,” Thistle said before taking a third spoonful.

Kabru nodded, realizing there was no point in denying it. He could barely restrain himself from bombarding Thistle with questions right now, but he forced himself to wait, letting him eat as much as he could.

And Thistle nearly finished the entire portion, far more than he had managed even on his best days.

Kabru thrust a glass of milk into his hands, took the nearly empty bowl, and placed it on the bedside table. Thistle took a couple of sips, and only then did Kabru allow himself to ask:

“Did he say anything else?”

“A lot,” Thistle sighed, handing back the glass. “If you promise to take me to Yaad before lunch, I’ll tell you something interesting.”

A mischievous smirk suddenly touched Thistle’s lips, and Kabru decided that he would take him there regardless, with or without conditions. Both Yaad and Falin would be happy to see him like this.

“You could’ve just asked, but sure, let’s make a deal. I promise.”

“He said that he understands my affection for Delgal,” Thistle’s voice wavered, but he quickly steadied himself, “and for Yaad. He said that for forty years, it didn’t matter to him where he was. But now he’s crossed the ocean to stay in Melini, because he wanted to be near his person. He chose him. That’s exactly what he said—’my person.’ Can you imagine?”

Kabru froze, forgetting to breathe. Mithrun actually said that? But about whom? Could it be someone Kabru had overlooked, despite his habit of studying people? Even running through random names—it was all wrong, except maybe Pattadol or Cithis, but that just sounded hilarious. So could it be…

“You’re overthinking again,” Thistle suddenly chuckled. “Do you want to hear the name? He said it outright.”

There was amusement and something almost condescending in Thistle’s gaze, and in that moment, Kabru realized the answer. It had always been the only possible one—if he wasn’t afraid to face the truth, if he let go of old grievances.

Kabru felt his cheeks flush and an uncontrollable smile creep onto his face.

Not wanting to make an even bigger fool of himself, Kabru jumped up, collected the dishes onto the tray, and rushed out of the room. Just before slamming the door behind him, he called back:

“You don’t have to tell me the name, I already know!”

He returned for Thistle only after stopping by the kitchen to grab a couple of buns, washing them down with tea, and retrieving all the necessary documents from his office to hand over to Yaad, who had fallen behind on work during his illness.

He stumbled into the conference room with a towering stack of papers in one hand and a disheveled Thistle in the other. He hadn’t managed to braid his hair neatly like Falin always did, though he had tried, but at least he’d found him a charming purple ruffled shirt that gave his face a healthy look.

“Sorry for being late!” he announced, fully aware that he wasn’t actually late.

After all, today’s meeting was a small one, even without Mr. Tansu, which meant that Laios would likely distract them for the first half hour with frivolous topics, like whether minotaurs could be reintegrated into livestock farming.

“I have good news: Thistle ate almost an entire bowl of porridge and promises to keep it up!”

Thistle, of course, had promised no such thing and had no intention of doing so. Instead, he kicked Kabru painfully in the shin, forcing him to let go, huffed, and took a seat beside Yaad. Kabru’s smile didn’t fade, even as four pairs of eyes turned to him questioningly.

“We’ve got a ton of work today, so let’s get through everything quickly and wrap this up,” he said. “Thistle will be joining us. After all, he has extensive experience in governance.”

No one argued, and only at the end, as Yaad and Thistle headed to the library, did Laios ask:

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to rely on the former Mad Mage?”

“Of course not,” Kabru snorted. “We won’t rely on him completely, but we can listen to his ideas. I think it’ll help him recover faster, and it’ll be good for us too.”

Laios thoughtfully stroked his chin and nodded in agreement. Marcille, however, got straight to the point:

“And how did you do it?”

“Do what?” Kabru asked, pretending not to understand what she meant as he gathered his notes, which were filled mostly with meaningless scribbles and fragmented agreements he had managed to jot down in brief moments when his mind wasn’t in the clouds.

“Convince Thistle to eat and actually bring him back to his senses.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” Kabru replied cryptically.

Of course, he knew Marcille wouldn’t let it go so easily. He should have at least tried to act normal, instead of dodging the question and grinning like an idiot. But right now, Kabru was simply too happy to think about anything else.

“And you’re practically glowing. Did something happen?”

Laios and Falin were also watching him with curiosity, but they didn’t interfere, letting Marcille lead the conversation. For the first time in days, she looked lively—like herself again. If Kabru had known that all it would take to lift her spirits was teasing her with his mysterious personal life—oh, he would’ve come to her for love advice ages ago!

“Maybe so, maybe not,” he said, standing up.

“We thought you’d keep sulking after the captain left,” she said with terrifying honesty. “But you… does this have anything to do with him?”

“I’ll leave that question unanswered.”

Kabru closed the door behind him, laughing, and Marcille’s cheerful cry followed after him:

“It does have something to do with him, you can’t fool me!!!”

Chapter Text

The apartment occupied two floors in an old stone merchant’s house. The restoration had just been completed, and the building’s main facade now boasted fresh plaster, restored stucco monograms, and soft grassy green walls that faded into white on the decorative elements. On the second floor, the sun reflected against a three-part semicircular window, and Kabru couldn’t help but imagine how pleasant it would be to throw open the curtains in the morning and expose his sleepy face to its rays.

The first floor was quite spacious: there would be room for both a kitchen and a dining area. Downstairs, there was a wine cellar—dry and cool, evoking memories of the third level of the Dungeon. Strangely enough, pleasant ones.

The location was good. Close to the castle and not far from the capital’s main road, the district was sure to become one of the busiest spots for trade and entertainment. A spice merchant had already acquired the property next door, and further up the street, there were plans to open a tobacco and wine shop. Nearly all the spaces had already been rented or bought in advance. Only a few remained, and the longer Kabru looked around, the more certain he became that this was exactly what he needed.

He had told Mithrun he would help him find a suitable place for the noodle shop, and he had finally fulfilled that promise. All that was left was to wait for his return from the Dungeon, and then…

Then what—Kabru didn’t know. Even though the words Thistle had relayed to him made him happy, they hadn’t answered all his questions. If Mithrun had returned to Melini to be with him, then why had he joined the dungeon investigation unit? Why had he never spoken of his feelings? And what kind of feelings were they—purely friendly, or did he feel the same as Kabru?

Replaying the same whirlwind of questions in his mind, Kabru stepped back into the house and started up the stairs. He had already checked out the second floor, but he wanted to see it again. Evening was approaching, and the setting sun promised to be especially beautiful. The brand-new wooden staircase smelled of pine and ship varnish and made no noise.

The arched window really did frame the glowing red sun beautifully. A patch of sky was even visible above the rooftops, as if glazed in apricot syrup.

Kabru froze as he arrived at the landing at the top of the stairs, pierced by a sudden awareness of his own loneliness. He comforted himself with the thought that as soon as Mithrun returned, they could come here together. Definitely at sunset on a fine day, so that Mithrun would be as charmed by this place as Kabru was and would not be able to refuse.

Kabru wanted there to be something important in Melini, something tangible, that could hold Mithrun there, since even “his person” had not been enough. Something to hold him back, or at least make him return here again and again.

"Your carelessness," a voice suddenly spoke from behind him, and Kabru felt something like a dagger press against his lower back, "will be your undoing one day."

Kabru tensed for only a moment, ready for a fight, but quickly relaxed. It was just a sheath pressing into his side, and the dry, calm voice was one he could never mistake.

"You’ve returned."

The squad wasn’t expected for another two days, and according to the reports, they hadn’t planned to move early or hurry along the way.

"I’m back," Mithrun said, as if the fact needed confirmation. "More importantly, I could’ve killed you just now."

Kabru snorted, reluctantly acknowledging the truth of that. He really should have been more careful. But instead of taking a guard, he had dressed as inconspicuously as possible and hid a dagger in each boot. Then he’d let his mind wander.

"I’ll be more careful from now on," Kabru promised, finally turning around. "More importantly, you’re early. Did you abandon the others?"

Kabru was afraid to look at him, but the world, as expected, did not collapse—only his heart quickened its pace. Mithrun, covered in road dust, disheveled, his lips once again cracked, lowered the dagger and adjusted his cloak. Even like this, he looked strikingly handsome.

"They don’t need me as much on the surface, so I was allowed to leave the squad."

"Did you really ask permission?"

Mithrun gave a short laugh, and Kabru was certain that if the captain had informed the team, it was in the form of an ultimatum. That could cost him a spot on the next expedition—but maybe that was for the best.

I’ll have to slap him with a disciplinary warning, Kabru thought slyly, stepping back a few paces so Mithrun could finally come up to the second floor.

The sun had already dipped lower, but the last rays still illuminated the wooden floor and painted the walls orange. Kabru stepped closer to the window, hoping Mithrun would like the view. Let him look, since he’d come all this way.

"How did you know I was here?" he asked, though it wasn’t really what he wanted to know.

"Marcille told me where to find you. She gave me a tracker."

"So you’ve already been to the castle?" Kabru was surprised.

Heat rushed through him in an instant. Anyone would say it was strange to come looking for someone like this, right after a long journey, with no solid reason. It was painfully obvious.

"You could’ve waited for me there, taken a bath. You must be tired, you just got off the road…"

"I wanted to see you sooner," Mithrun replied, completely unafraid of being obvious.

Kabru stared at him again, amazed at how little was reflected on his tired, sunlit face—and at the same time, how much.

"Is there something else you want?" Kabru asked, feeling something inside him tighten, as if standing at the edge of a cliff. Just like that time when he grabbed the captain of the Canaries and, risking his life, threw himself into the abyss with him.

"I want to always come back to you."

Mithrun didn’t say these words gently, or tenderly, or warmly, or with any special fervor, but as if it were the only possible truth. Kabru wanted to hear all of that in his voice or see something that would give him a clear sign. But all he saw was the pink tip of his nose, the silvery glint in his good eye, his lips parted in excitement, and a lock of hair falling charmingly over his eyes. Kabru couldn’t resist tucking it behind his ear, brushing his fingertips over unexpectedly soft, moist, hot skin. Mithrun sighed so quietly, so sweetly, that Kabru didn’t even realize he’d done something foolish again: he slid his hand to the nape of Mithrun’s neck, gently cradling it in his fingers, and leaned forward, catching the quivering exhalation with his lips.

For a long moment, Kabru froze, realizing what he’d done. All his plans and strategies, his safe conversational tactics, had gone out the window. Pulling away now would be stupid and beyond his strength. He didn’t want to leave things half done. Kabru ran his fingers through Mithrun’s tangled hair and pulled it back, tilting Mithrun’s head back even more, and kissed him for real, deeper.

Mithrun didn’t move for a few agonizing seconds, letting himself be kissed. Then he laid a hand on Kabru’s chest, right over his heart. Kabru froze, recognizing the gesture—if the captain teleported him to a floor below, he’d be lucky. More likely, he’d find himself in the middle of the ocean in a second.

So be it, Kabru thought, unable to heed the warning.

But instead of teleporting, Mithrun grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down further. He returned the kiss as hungrily as the gesture suggested—Kabru was startled to feel a hot tongue in his mouth, but he submitted to it with pleasure.

They kissed until the last rays of sunlight melted away and the room slipped into evening twilight. There was still light outside, the sky so bright that not a single star was visible yet—but Kabru could’ve sworn he saw them reflected in Mithrun’s eyes.

"What do you think of this place? Do you like it?" Kabru asked, tearing himself away from his lips with difficulty.

"It would be better if there was a bed or something here."

Kabru just laughed, pulling Mithrun into a hug—oh, it was terrible. The way Mithrun said such shameless things so plainly. The way it turned Kabru on, even though he was completely unprepared for things to move this fast.

"Be careful with your words, there are still floors and walls here," Kabru muttered into his tousled hair. It smelled like sun and dust. "And there’s plenty of space. This district’s going to be popular, and the first floor can accommodate tables and a kitchen. There’s a wine cellar and an exit to the courtyard. And—"

"Sounds great. You’ve worked hard," Mithrun cut in. He raised his head and brushed his lips against Kabru’s chin, then said, "We’re expected at dinner. Shall we go?"

Kabru thought that even if he were asked to go into the Dungeon right now, he wouldn't have the strength to refuse.

Maybe—just maybe—being in the Dungeon right now would’ve been preferable. Because the castle was in chaos: Mithrun’s report that there was still no sign of the Demon in the Dungeon had caused an uproar, Izutsumi and Senshi had returned from Izganda, Falin was pestering everyone with her desire to join the next expedition south, and Laios was theatrically wailing about not being able to leave the capital for long and begging her to at least bring back a cockatrice carcass. Thistle, who had agreed to dine with such a large group for the first time, kept rolling his eyes and repeating to Yaad that he would have made a much more worthy king. Cithis and Pattadol, who for some reason had also been invited, seemed quiet and unobtrusive in comparison—at least for now.

Mithrun, who had first left to wash and change and then was caressed by Cithis’s attention in a way that irritated Kabru, was now sitting too far away. He was listening with interest to Senshi’s story about a journey to the dwarf’s birthplace that had long since stopped feeling like home. Thanks to Laios’s moaning, Kabru could only catch fragments of the conversation, and all he could do was watch helplessly, hoping to at least catch Mithrun’s eye.

"Someone was in a hurry to get back, huh?"

Ah, yes. There was one more problem: Marcille, who had deliberately sat next to him to warm her ears and avoid monster talk. And she looked like she was seriously determined to shake a sincere confession out of him.

"Looks like it," Kabru smiled, pretending to be up for a chat.

In truth, he was scrambling to think of any gossip he could use to bargain with. Everyone already knew about Rin and Kaka, Daya’s wedding was old news, and gossiping about Pattadol and Cithis was terrifying, even if he was dead certain. Well, if he couldn’t think of anything, maybe he could make something up… but what?

"He had barely just returned and immediately went looking for you. Did he find you?"

"Speaking of which," Kabru grabbed the opportunity, "what’s this about a tracker? Are you spying on me?"

"Absolutely not!" Marcille protested, then blushed in embarrassment. "That was Laios’s idea. After the attack on Yaad, we were worried. You could be the next target, and you leave the castle often, so…"

"Alright, I’m not mad," Kabru waved it off. "It’s a smart precaution, but just warn me next time."

"Well, I didn’t even get a lecture on rights and freedoms," Marcille sighed. "You really are happy, aren’t you?"

Mithrun was smiling, discussing with Senshi either how Izganda’s map looked like a giant elephant or the intricacies of butchering a dragon—Kabru couldn’t quite hear. Tearing his eyes away from him felt impossible, even just to scold Marcille for prying. Or to be less obvious.

Who even cares? Kabru decided, finally catching that longed-for gaze.

"Yes. I am."

Chapter Text

It was cool and quiet in Kabru’s chambers—right up until they burst into the bedroom, knocking over a candelabra on the way in. They managed to put out the carpet fire almost immediately, but it still left a scorch mark in the shape of a walking mushroom. When Kabru pointed it out, Mithrun only snorted doubtfully and said:

“So, we nearly burned your room down. What now?”

He sat at the edge of the bed, but without his usual ease. Mithrun’s eyes burned in the dim light just as brightly as the surviving candles, but shadows had settled under them. He still hadn’t learned to recognize when he was running on empty.

“Sleep,” Kabru replied, stubbornly ignoring another, far less innocent desire. “Just sleep, I don’t want you passing out on me.”

“I’m not—”

“Take off your clothes and lie down.”

Mithrun smirked; the command sounded ambiguous. Watching him pull off his boots, peel off those tight trousers, wrestle out of his tunic, and finally end up in nothing but the thinnest silk shirt was its own kind of trial. But Kabru still watched more than he undressed himself, barely managing to loosen the laces on his vest and kick off his shoes along with the hidden daggers.

“Are you sure?” Mithrun asked, swinging one bare foot with a teasing lilt.

His gaze lingered unmistakably below Kabru’s belt—Kabru had felt himself grow hard, and now he knew Mithrun knew too. But that didn’t change anything.

It almost seemed like Mithrun enjoyed testing his restraint. He even asked Kabru for a nightshirt to sleep in, only to practically drown in it and look devastatingly tempting. But Kabru didn’t give in, and eventually Mithrun obediently crawled under the light summer blanket, tossed and turned until he settled into a comfortable position, and sighed contentedly. Kabru was sure he had made the right decision.

He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over Mithrun, who was already blinking drowsily. Each time, his eyes stayed closed a little longer, and his right one stopped opening entirely. It always happened like this once the captain was truly spent. Kabru wanted to tell him to take better care of himself, but a strange wave of tenderness gripped his throat, and no sound came out. Instead, he touched his face, mutilated and perfect all at once, and traced his right eyebrow, resting a palm on his smooth, relaxed forehead.

“You’re right, I’m about to pass out,” Mithrun murmured lazily, peeking at him through half-lowered lashes. “What a shame.”

“It’s okay,” Kabru managed, barely keeping his voice steady. “We’ll wake up in the same bed. Assuming, of course, you don’t leave me this time.”

Mithrun twitched a corner of his lip in disagreement and caught his wrist.

“Have I ever left you?”

Kabru couldn’t help but chuckle, either at the absurdity of those words or at how ticklish and hot his whisper and kiss felt against his palm.

“You sailed away from Melini and didn’t let me go with you. Not to mention you’ve now joined the dungeon investigation team...”

Mithrun seemed to be fighting off sleep with the last of his strength, not needing a massage or potions now. His grip on his wrist weakened, and Kabru gently stroked his cheek, trying to make it clear that he wasn’t expecting an explanation. His breathing grew slower and deeper, and yet Mithrun found the strength to respond:

“I needed to figure things out and tie up loose ends. And you... I just wanted you to stay safe.”

Kabru blinked in confusion, trying to understand what he meant.

“You hate monsters...” he yawned sweetly, “...and dungeons. And the safest place is next to Laios.”

He winced as if unhappy that he had to say it out loud. The confession seemed to drain the last of his strength. Kabru felt the swell of emotion overflowing again, threatening to spill completely. Unable to hold back, he leaned close, pressed his cheek to Mithrun’s, and brushed his lips over the curve of his ear. He froze. Mithrun didn’t need to finish the sentence for him to finally understand why the retired captain of the Canaries had returned to the Dungeon.

And still, Kabru heard:

“And I wanted... to make sure Melini... Melini and y-you were... not...”

He fell asleep before finishing the sentence, but Kabru didn’t need to hear the rest. He remembered their days spent together in the Dungeon, the countless times the captain had saved his life. If there was anyone in the world capable of defeating any monster, it was Mithrun.

With him, Kabru was always safe.

Kabru woke first, whether from the heat or because someone else’s hair had tickled his nose, he couldn’t tell. At first, in his half-asleep state, he didn’t even realize what was odd about this morning scene—he didn’t want to let go of the slim, graceful body in his arms, so he pulled it closer, pressing his lips to an already tousled, silvery nape.

What a lovely dream, he thought.

“Mm, easy,” came a quiet, unthreatening voice, and Kabru obediently loosened his grip, though he didn’t let go. His hand wandered over Mithrun’s belly, feeling the taut, lean muscle tense beneath his fingers, the skin hot to the touch.

“Is this really not a dream?” he mumbled, sliding his fingers under the cotton shirt.

“You can check.”

Mithrun’s lips were easy to find, as if they had been made for Kabru’s mouth. Kabru pressed himself into them, shaking off the last remnants of sleep. Mithrun—real, warm, alive—was truly in his arms, responding to every touch as if he had only one desire: to melt into Kabru completely.

“Maybe,” Kabru said, pausing to kiss his neck, “I’m still in the Dungeon and ran into a succubus?”

“Nonsense,” Mithrun said flatly, pressing into Kabru’s hand as it slipped lower.

He was hard—very hard, and probably had been for a while. His underwear was damp with arousal. Maybe Kabru had been the last one to wake, making him wait.

“Is it really you, and so shameless?” Kabru teased, squeezing his shaft through the fabric and gently stroking the head.

Truthfully, Kabru wasn’t sure who he was teasing more—he felt ready to come just from touching Mithrun and grinding against his ass, embarrassingly close to finishing in his own underwear while pretending to be a practiced lover. Which he wasn’t, and he’d certainly never found himself in bed with a man before. But with Mithrun, everything just clicked. Kabru was completely head over heels in love with him, and he loved the way Mithrun responded with both words and body.

“If you didn’t have a long workday ahead of you,” Mithrun said, holding him firmly by the chin, “I would fuck you, Kabru, without an ounce of shame.”

Kabru felt dangerously close to the edge. Mithrun’s sudden dominance, his undisguised arousal, drove him crazy. Even in his wildest fantasies, Kabru had never imagined that the initiative would come from someone who had supposedly lost interest in everything. But he should’ve known better, knowing Mithrun’s directness and the fact that desires are born again.

Kabru hovered over him, forcing him to lie back and lock eyes with him with a heavy gaze.

“I quit,” he said solemnly.

Mithrun chuckled and placed his fingers over Kabru’s lips, as if asking him to be silent:

“Liar.”

And Kabru fell silent. He kissed Mithrun’s fingertips, taking in his middle and ring fingers, licking and gently sucking. Mithrun’s surprise gave way to hunger, and he pushed them deeper, brushing against Kabru’s lower teeth and exploring his cheek. He looked pleased. Kabru was, too—he had never dreamed of knowing Mithrun like this one day, spread out beneath him.

“There’s no time,” Mithrun suddenly said, voice low and resonant. He pulled his hand away and bent his leg at the knee, pressing it against Kabru’s crotch, urging him on. “Faster.”

And not just because of lack of time—neither of them had the strength to endure much longer.

“Together,” Mithrun breathed as Kabru finally tugged off his underwear and shirt, but forgot about his own.

Kabru obeyed. He pressed their hips together and thrusted experimentally, knocking an impatient groan out of Mithrun. This wasn’t enough. He wanted to be even closer, to melt into each other, to become one whole—but there was no damn time for that, so Kabru simply wrapped a hand around both of their members. Mithrun rewarded him with a kiss, pulling him into a tight embrace, shuddering each time Kabru brushed his dripping head.

He moved on instinct, jerking them off at a ragged, uneven pace, wanting it to end sooner—or to never end. There was a catastrophic lack of air, but he continued to press himself against Mithrun’s wet, hot mouth, unable to pull away.

“I’m going to—” Mithrun gasped before spilling directly into Kabru’s hand and onto his own stomach.

His eyes squeezed shut, body tensing with powerful tremors, and Kabru thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Even when the Demon had transported them to another plane and granted them total happiness and empty bliss, Kabru hadn’t felt anything this euphoric. Nothing had ever come close to the pleasure of following Mithrun, shaking with release, into climax.

"A little longer and they'll start looking for us," Kabru heard, either almost immediately or what felt like an eternity later. "At least for you."

Kabru sighed regretfully. He wanted to hold onto the moment, or at the very least, stay in bed for another half a day. Instead, he obediently sat up, feeling the unpleasant stickiness, and, without much thought, wiped them both off with the shirt he had pulled off Mithrun earlier. Only after that did he dare to look at his face. It looked... dangerous.

"I liked it," said Mithrun, as if there were any doubt left.

In contrast, Kabru felt awkward and embarrassed. There were drops of cum on Mithrun’s cheek, giving him an even more debauched look—how did that even happen?

"You’ve got a little..." Kabru gestured vaguely at himself, unable to say it out loud and blushing harder.

Thankfully, Mithrun understood without words: he unerringly gathered the seed with his fingers and—to Kabru's horror—licked them clean. Kabru choked at his boldness. His member twitched with interest, and Kabru cursed his body for being so responsive before immediately forgiving himself: anyone in his place would have lost their mind. He was still holding up well.

"There's still some left," he said, barely managing to speak. Kabru cautiously pulled back, afraid Mithrun would pounce on him with just a touch. "Take a handkerchief from the top drawer. It’s not locked."

Mithrun gave him a knowing smile and reached for the nightstand, not the least bit shy about his nakedness. Kabru hungrily stared at the even row of protruding vertebrae and the red marks on his neck left by him. They bloomed hot on pale skin, covered with fine scars, and the sight twisted Kabru’s insides into a tight knot of satisfaction laced with empty regret.

"A familiar envelope," Mithrun said suddenly. "And judging by the magic..."

Kabru immediately realized which envelope was in the drawer—he’d never managed to get rid of it, even though there was no longer a use for it.

"Yeah, it was intended for you," Kabru admitted, gladly latching onto the topic. He jumped up and started dressing while he still had a chance to escape. "I thought my first letter didn’t reach you, so I wrote another one. I even asked Rin to put a signal spell on it, so I’d know if it got to you."

"You didn’t get a chance to send it?" Mithrun asked, lazily wiping himself off with the cloth.

Kabru wished he could stop looking at him so as not to be tempted, but he couldn’t. All he could think about was how much he wanted to see Mithrun this relaxed and content every morning.

"Your familiar attacked my office window before I could."

The next question caught Kabru off guard:

"Can I read it?"

"If you want..."

Kabru suddenly felt unsure—there wasn’t much point to it now. He remembered there wasn’t anything special written in it, and yet he felt nervous. Watching Mithrun, completely naked in his bed, opening an envelope sealed with the royal crest was strange and, at the same time, funny.

A glowing emerald ligature on his wrist began to shine, and Kabru rolled up his sleeve to get a better look at it, admiring the pattern. Mithrun noticed too.

"Nice work."

He seemed to be in an unusually good mood, and Kabru even feared Mithrun might start reading the letter aloud just to tease him. But he simply smoothed the paper carefully and began silently scanning the lines. He only commented once, halfway through:

"Terribly polite and cold."

Kabru rolled his eyes but couldn’t disagree. That version of the letter, sterile and sanitized, was the result of his efforts to not come off as too clingy. It hadn’t been his first draft and felt safe, but it had been painfully dull. He could only be glad Mithrun had received a much more sincere, albeit hasty, version.

Once he reached the end, Mithrun sighed, slid the letter back into the envelope, and returned it to the drawer.

"I’m sure your last letter wasn’t like this at all," Mithrun said suddenly. "I sailed before it arrived, but it was delivered recently."

"Please put some clothes on," Kabru begged, trying to focus on lacing his boots. "And about the letter—why haven’t you read it yet?"

"I’m saving it for when I miss you unbearably," Mithrun said casually, finally putting on his shirt after using a cleansing spell. "I deeply regretted not taking it with me into the Dungeon."

"Then don’t go back there," Kabru muttered, flustered by his bluntness.

It seemed like Mithrun had completely stopped filtering his words now, which was just as thrilling as it was embarrassing. Still, Kabru hoped he’d forget about the last letter—compared to the one that wasn’t sent, it was far too emotional and stupid.

"If I don’t need to, I won’t," Mithrun promised unexpectedly. He caught Kabru’s hand as he passed the bed. "Did you really think I could receive your letter and not respond?"

His fingers gripped Kabru’s wrist, where the spell’s mark still lingered.

"Well... yes?" Kabru answered honestly.

Now, meeting Mithrun’s clear gaze, seeing his warm smile, knowing what he felt—Kabru realized just how wrong he’d been.

"Such a fool," Mithrun simply said, pressing his lips to Kabru’s wrist.

Kabru didn’t argue.

The canary on Kabru’s palm bloomed just a week later. By then, he’d already reached a point of despair, dealing with issues from the returned research team and helping to plan the next expedition, going half-mad from Thistle and Laios’s overzealous ideas, and nearly dying under the avalanche of paperwork prepared by the royal treasury at Chilchuck’s request. Chilchuck had returned to Melini and had become even more fired up about implementing the immigration program.

Meanwhile, Mithrun had spent the entire week busy with repairs and ordering furniture for the shop, finding suppliers for flour, spices, and fresh ingredients, and helping Lycion and Fleki, who had shown up out of the blue, settle in.

In short, by that point, Kabru was lucky to see Mithrun once a day, and he couldn’t take it anymore. So, he had already started planning a move into the apartment next to the future noodle shop and a serious conversation with Minister Yaad about his work schedule.

"Are you two still exchanging letters?" Marcille whispered excitedly. She, of course, had instantly recognized the magic she’d once read from the envelope.

Kabru gave a mysterious shake of his head and hid a smile in his palm, already thinking about how to quickly escape the never-ending meeting to get back to the one who missed him unbearably.