Roned did not look the way he had when they crossed paths on the street before, that unsettling appearance of a man seized by madness. He wore the same melancholy he had shown at the ball not long ago, a look that mingled resignation with loss.

I had always found his usual manner exhausting, that excessive warmth and boundless energy, so I thought that perhaps this version of him might be a little easier to deal with as I welcomed him in.

“I should have sent word ahead. I was passing nearby and thought of you.”

“I happened to have time to spare. I had a feeling you would be visiting before long, in any case.”

It would have been better had he contacted me first, as he himself acknowledged, but I had no wish to turn away the man who had saved my life, so I received him with a measure of courtesy.

“Are you… feeling better?”

“Yes. I’ve been taking the medicine the doctor prescribed. My body feels much lighter.”

“I see. I’m truly glad to hear it.”

Roned lowered his head and said nothing for a moment. Though he made no sound, his expression was one of deep suffering, and I could tell that something was working through him. An awkward silence passed before he opened his mouth with some effort.

“I know you find it unpleasant when the prophecy is brought up, but there is something I want to explain.”

Hearing those words from Roned’s lips was thoroughly tiresome, but he had raised the subject with such difficulty that I could not refuse him. I gave a silent nod of permission.

“I read the article. I didn’t know you considered yourself the fulfillment of the prophecy.”

“That was simply a political position. Personally, I don’t particularly believe in the prophecy.”

At my answer, Roned’s eyes went wide and he stared at me with a look of genuine bewilderment, as though he truly hadn’t expected it.

“Why? Is it strange that I don’t believe in the prophecy?”

“No, not strange exactly… it’s just that you always seemed… resigned somehow… I assumed you thought of yourself that way.”

“At one point, I did. I wondered whether I was truly fated to bring ruin to my homeland. Whether that was why I had to endure such torment. I had thoughts like that.”

“And now?”

“Now. I don’t think that way. Rodencia simply fell when the time came, after the sins of its former kings had piled up beyond measure.”

“I see.”

I didn’t know why, but hearing my answer seemed to ease Roned’s expression considerably. He nodded, a faint smile crossing his face as though he had been relieved of some weight, and his reaction made me curious enough to ask.

“What is it you wanted to explain, then?”

We had almost no personal connection to speak of. What on earth could the young lord of House Iledn possibly need to explain to me?

“I believed that Lady Lucian truly thought of herself as the seed of ruin, a cursed being. I thought you might be suffering under the belief that Rodencia’s fall was your fault. I’m genuinely relieved to hear that you no longer see yourself that way, but I was worried that perhaps you still did.”

“Well, there was a time when I did.”

“I may be obsessed with the prophecy, but I have never once wished for Lady Lucian to suffer. And I have never once thought that Lewian or Her Majesty the Queen acted rightly.”

No particular response comes to mind. It sounds like an ordinary enough story: a young lord who visits his mother’s homeland on occasion felt sympathy for a pitiable distant relation. Something like that.

Roned watched my reaction and, seeing my indifference, gave a rueful smile and ran his tongue over his dry lips. His throat seemed parched.

“I always believed something was wrong with the prophecy. Or that the interpretation was wrong. Perhaps that is why I became so fixated on it. Though my interpretation was never accepted, not until the Rodencian royal line had already fallen.”

So that was what he was saying. All those times he had observed me during his visits to Rodencia, all the times he had muttered nonsense about revival whenever we happened to meet, it had all been because he wanted to prove that his interpretation was correct? He had been so fixated on reinterpreting the prophecy because he felt sorry for me?

When I look back honestly, all I had ever felt was discomfort at his persistence. Then and now, Roned had never caused me any real harm. Even now, the memory of him constantly at Lewian’s side makes my skin crawl, but I can see that he had no ill will toward me specifically.

And yet, an explanation. What blow could it possibly deal him, whatever a common citizen like me thought of a lord like himself?

“If you’re concerned about me, there’s no need. What responsibility could you possibly bear for my misfortunes, Lord Roned?”

“You’re right. What does it have to do with me?”

The explanation had been given, and that was enough. What I was actually curious about right now was not what lay in his heart but something rather more practical.

“Do you know how Lewian has been getting on lately?”

I asked directly, without circling around it. What mattered to me was not how much he pitied me. What mattered was whether he was still on close terms with Lewian.

“……”

At my question, Roned parted his lips as though he had something to say, then closed them and let out a breath.

“I thought it would sound stranger to talk around it. Since coming to Frianc, I have not had a single exchange with Lewian. I don’t agree with what Lewian is doing these days, either.”

I had made my position clear, so all I had to do was wait for his answer. I doubted he would tell me honestly even if he were cooperating with Lewian toward Rodencia’s revival, but I wanted to hear what he would say.

“I haven’t been in contact for over four years, either. And I have never once agreed with anything Lewian has done, going back much further than that.”

“I see. Thank you for giving me a clear answer.”

Roned lifted his head. Red eyes that mirrored my own gazed at me without wavering. Every pair of red eyes I had known had always been filled with madness, but his held something different, intense yet somehow wistful, like a sunset on the verge of being swallowed by darkness.

“If you ever need my help, please reach out at any time. I will do everything I can.”

“You’ve already saved my life once. That debt alone is more than enough.”

Not wanting to incur any further obligations, I declined his offer in gentle terms. Whether he understood my meaning, Roned drew his hand across his lips once and gave a reluctant nod, accepting my refusal.

Not long after Roned left, the journalist Heliones had mentioned arrived. I let Roned’s visit pass from my mind and turned my attention to the interview.

* * *

A soft gaze, a gentle tone. Yet Lucian’s answers had expressed a clear and unmistakable refusal. With a sharpness of mind that could only be called a gift, Roned had anticipated Lucian’s response, but he could not deny the persistent ache in his chest.

It was like bitter water rising in his throat. The woman he had revered for more than half his life still found him uncomfortable and unpleasant. Roned knew well enough that the two of them had gotten off on the wrong foot from the very beginning.

The land of his mother’s birth, which he had visited as a child, had been more mysterious and beautiful than even his mother had described. Because his mother was a relation of the queen, he had visited the royal palace on occasion, and it was there that he had met Lewian, a descendant of the divine beast who wielded the power of flame.

With an appearance that was intense and otherworldly, and a confidence to match, Lewian had been a year younger than Roned and yet had captured his heart almost immediately.

Until he reached his early teens, every time Roned visited the Rodencian royal palace he trailed after Lewian and worked tirelessly to earn his regard.

It was during his fourth visit to Rodencia. A summer night after a frantic day spent with Lewian’s pages, as usual, when Roned encountered a ghost in one of the palace corridors. Or thought he had. He had been so startled at first that he couldn’t even scream, and pressed himself against the corridor wall like a spider, but the moment it passed by him he realized it was not a ghost at all, merely a filthy, blood-soaked human being.

The ghostly shape, reeking with the stench one might expect from a long-dead corpse, walked toward the kitchen. Roned was frightened by this horrifying creature unlike anything he had ever seen in his life, but boyish curiosity stirred in him as well, and he followed.

When the ghost entered the kitchen, the maids who had been tidying up grimaced and quietly slipped away, as though this were a familiar occurrence. The ghost shoved leftover food into its mouth with desperate haste, and as though that were not enough, filled both hands with scraps and leftovers before leaving the kitchen.

Young Roned followed without fear. Seeing the kitchen maids’ reaction had made him realize that the small ghost was not particularly dangerous, and the fading fear had only encouraged his recklessness.

The ghost, eating as though possessed by a hungry spirit, made its way to a corner of the garden. It sat down beneath the deep shadow of the trees, where people rarely came, and set down the scraps it had been clutching in both hands onto the ground. Then two small kittens crept slowly out from the shadows and buried their faces in the meat.