The world stirred around me, a slow unraveling of distant murmurs and shifting shadows. Voices drifted through the fog of unconsciousness, rising and falling like the tide.

  "She is waking."

  "For god’s sake, at last."

  My body felt foreign—light, untethered, as though the weight I had carried for so long had suddenly lifted. I willed my eyes open, vision swimming before settling upon a familiar face. Chara sat beside me, her expression unreadable. And then there was the other—the insufferable bore. He stood near the foot of the bed, arms crossed, impatience simmering just beneath the surface.

  I pushed myself upright, testing the limits of my own body, half-expecting the searing pain that had once been my constant companion. Yet, to my surprise, I felt nothing but the lingering ghost of it.

  "Thank you for your kindness," I said, my voice steady, free from the rasp of agony.

  The bore scoffed. "Hah. You call us kind, yet you refuse our aid at every turn."

  I did not answer. Instead, I took in my surroundings—the deep purple walls, the stark white ceiling, the sparse furnishings. A table, its surface undisturbed save for a fine layer of dust. Three chairs, two occupied. A single bed—my own temporary sanctuary.

  The bore exhaled sharply and turned toward the door. "I shall go to Agora and bring food," he muttered.

  "Thank you, sir."

  He halted mid-step, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "Fane. Fane Aethos."

  And then he was gone, leaving only his name lingering in the air.

  Aethos. Something within me stirred. A faint chime of recognition.

  "We are siblings," Chara said, her voice light, but her gaze sharp. "Twins, to be precise. He’s the younger one."

  I turned back to Chara, narrowing my gaze. It made sense why I hadn’t recognized it earlier—everyone here bore the same eyes, the same hair, the same mannerisms. I studied her then, letting the pieces fall into place.

  Chara leaned forward slightly, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You’ve already met my father. Fidi Aethos—one of the seven warlords."

  A chill coiled around my spine.

  Fidi. Chara. Bore. The revelation settled over me, slow and heavy. The resemblance was undeniable now. Both of them relished the art of anticipation, of peeling away at another’s reactions, savoring each shift in expression like a delicacy. I should have noticed it earlier, should have recognized the way they carried themselves, the way their presence shaped the space around them. But I had been too lost in the haze of survival to see what had been right before me. And yet, despite that I knew the twins lacked Barrett’s cruelty. There was something in them that set them apart.

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  "Did you recognize me from the beginning?" I asked.

  "No. Fidi mentioned meeting an amusing child with gray eyes. I didn’t realize it was you." A flicker of something unreadable passed through her expression. "I helped you out of curiosity. But when I removed your helmet and dressed your wounds, I saw your pink hair." She laughed, the sound soft but edged with satisfaction. "It was a guess then. But now that you've opened your eyes, it’s confirmed."

  I lowered my gaze, lifting the blanket slightly. I was dressed in a green chiton. My body was wrapped in pristine white bandages, my wounds hidden beneath the layers. And yet, there was no pain, no stiffness to remind me of the battle I had endured.

  "How long?"

  "One night."

  One night? I had expected weeks of recovery, months, even. Chara laughed at my stunned silence.

  "I used an ointment. Perks of nobility. You owe me nothing. Things like this rot away in our homes, anyway." Before I could respond, the door swung open once more. The kind bore had returned, carrying a tray laden with food.

  "Thank you, sir." I said, stepping forward, gaze fixed upon the unfamiliar dish.

  "I told you my name to prevent you from addressing me as 'sir,' fool." The bore's voice carried its usual exasperation. My focus remained on the unfamiliar meal before me—a thick, fragrant soup, steam curling in delicate tendrils from its surface. Floating atop was a sprig of celery, the only identifiable ingredient. I lifted the spoon to my lips.

  The taste—

  There were no words. Warmth spread through me, filling a hollow space I had not realized was there. The sensation was intoxicating, overwhelming. I drank greedily, each spoonful chasing the emptiness from my bones. By the time the bowl was empty, a quiet burp escaped me. Chara and Fane burst into laughter.

  "It’s called Coda alla Vaccinar," the bore said between grins. "Made from beast meat."

  I reached for the bread, tearing through slice after slice, pairing each bite with cheese until I had devoured thirty. Another burp, another round of laughter.

  "To digest all that, why not spar against me?" the bore asked, his grin had not yet faded.

  "No." The word left my lips before I could think better of it. The bore blinked, clearly caught off guard. Until now, I had fought because I had to. Because survival demanded it. Without purpose, without necessity, what was the point? The idea of raising my blade without reason felt—empty.

  The bore’s expression shifted, something unreadable flickering through his eyes. Perhaps he was remembering my words from the previous day—the ones that painted me as someone who craved battle, who found solace in the clash of blades. But that was only a mask, a necessity shaped by circumstance.

  Now—

  Now, I wasn’t even sure why I continued to exist.

  The bore’s voice broke through my thoughts. "I am the one meant to be dropping expressions, not you. It is merely a practice match. You need not give it your all. So come—let us spar."

  I hesitated.

  Maybe this will give me purpose.

  Then, finally, I nodded.