“I didn’t come here to beg for that. I only wish to ask about the prophecy you have already seen, Your Holiness.”

Recognizing whose prophecy he meant, the Prophet fell silent. Memories of the rumors circulating in the capital resurfaced.

Still, whatever had brought this man to his current state, it wasn’t some mere curse of the dead. The Prophet, capable of seeing what others couldn’t, recognized it as a profound sense of loss that had destroyed him.

His unspoken pity deepened, softening his tone.

“I’ve already told you—I won’t disclose someone’s future without their presence.”

“In the prophecy you saw that day, where was Bleria Heaven?”

Gopher Allnight’s intent was clear.

The Prophet could only see the future of those still alive. Bleria Heaven had seldom left the Heaven estate after entering it. If the Prophet had seen her elsewhere in his vision, it was proof she was still alive.

Usually, he would have turned him away without offering so much as a hint.

But the Prophet hesitated. The man standing before him looked as though he might die if even this tiny hope were crushed. This wasn’t a mere guess for someone with heightened intuition like the Prophet.

If he kept silent here, and news of Gopher Allnight’s death soon followed, whose fault would that be? Moreover, in the future, he had glimpsed for Bleria Heaven, the man before he had…

Between adhering to principles and saving a life, the answer was one he had long understood in his decades of study.

After a pause, the Prophet spoke.

“As I’ve said, I will not speak of a prophecy without the person concerned present.”

“…”

“If you wish to know, bring Bleria Heaven here to hear it.”

For a moment, Gopher Allnight didn’t react. Then, like a clock’s frozen hands ticking forward again, a change began.

“She’s alive…?”

If a withered bud could bloom again, it might look like this. The once-empty eyes regained their light, and the Prophet turned away. He gave no answer, but it seemed enough for the other man.

It was time for a prayer of repentance.

***

The rain lashed against the windows, making them rattle. The frames must have been misaligned. Mel worried about the window that didn’t close properly as she gazed into the pitch-black night.

It keeps raining.

Even during the rainy season, the capital hadn’t been like this. Perhaps because Conercio was close to the sea, its rain was relentless. What if the weather was like this on the day they set sail? As she fretted, she heard movement behind her.

“Cleaning’s all done, miss,” Daisy said, removing her apron.

“Thank you, you’ve worked hard.”

“You’ve done most of it yourself, so I wouldn’t say that. How often have I told you there’s no need for you to do housework?”

“I can’t expect to be treated like a noble anymore. I should do what I can.”

“If money’s all it takes to not envy nobles, we’ve got plenty. Our Count is rich, so you don’t need to worry.”

At that moment, a loud thunderclap rolled through the sky.

“I’m serious,” Daisy said with a sheepish grin, licking her lips. She hung her apron on the rack, then fetched a shawl to drape over Mel’s shoulders.

“I should get going now.”

“With the rain coming down like this, why not stay the night?”

“I can’t. If the Count finds out, oh, there’ll be trouble—big trouble.”

Mel knew it was unlikely, but she pressed her lips together and lowered her head. Before Daisy could notice, she raised it again. As Mel saw her out, Daisy continued fussing over her.

“Make sure you lock the door. And don’t open it for anyone, no matter who knocks.”

“You treat me like a child.”

“I mean it. There’ve been some nasty rumors going around lately. With all this rain, people don’t go out at night. But if someone does knock, the next thing you know is wham! An axe through the door!”

Mel frowned at the dramatic warning as Daisy grabbed her shoulders.

“Oh, you’re no fun. You didn’t even flinch.”

“Don’t joke about things like that.”

“I’m not joking. Anyway, they say it’s only been men getting hurt, so you should be fine. We’ll keep an eye out to make sure nothing happens.”

Daisy adjusted Mel’s shawl one more time before opening the door.

“Still, lock up properly. And get some rest early tonight.”

“Got it. Hurry home.”

The door shut with a thud. Even after securing it, Mel stood quietly, listening for the sound of Daisy’s departure.

She’s gone.

The house Mixel had arranged for her was a two-story home. Compared to Norma’s, it was a palace; compared to the Heaven estate, it was a snail’s shell.

Yet, this empty house often felt more significant than the Heaven estate.

Unless Mixel stayed the night in the guest room or Daisy came by to help, Mel was always alone. In her circumstances, forming connections with others was impossible.

And so, Mel felt lonely.

On days Daisy visited, the feeling worsened. Though they were nothing alike, her playful laughter brought to mind Harriet, leaving Mel with a hollow ache in her chest.

Don’t think about it.

Harriet was someone she would never meet again. According to the papers, she was doing well, so no need to worry.

Things will get better once I reach Whaley. Swallowing her familiar self-reassurances, Mel turned away from the door.

Then came a sharp and eerie screeching sound, grating on her ears. Startled, she turned toward the noise just in time to see the chandelier in the living room shift out of place and plummet.

It’s falling!

Mel clapped her hands over her ears and tightly shut her eyes. Yet, the noise she expected didn’t come. Tentatively, she opened one eye to assess the situation.

“Phew…“

A deep breath escaped her heaving chest.

Disaster had been narrowly avoided. The chandelier was precariously caught, swaying in an awkward position. Only two of the twelve candles remained lit, leaving the living room dim, but it was far better than it being shattered into pieces.

Her relief was short-lived as a more pressing concern arose.

I should have asked Daisy for help.

The night before, she had pulled down the chandelier to replace the nearly burned-out candles. The weight had been overwhelming, but she’d managed. It seemed the chain holding the chandelier hadn’t been adequately secured.

With a troubled expression, Mel stared at the dangling fixture. Daisy had just left and wouldn’t return anytime soon. The same went for Mixel.

What now? Why did this have to happen on a rainy night of all times? A chill ran down her spine, recalling Daisy’s earlier words.

“There’ve been some nasty rumors going around lately. With all this rain, people don’t go out at night. But if someone does knock, the next thing you know is wham! An axe through the door!”

Why on earth had Daisy chosen to share such a story?

Mel shook her head, frowning. No one had ever come to her door in the middle of the night. It had to be just a rumor.

She looked at the staircase leading to her bedroom on the second floor. Untouched by light, that corner of the house was as dark as if it had been painted with coal.

As she tried to recall where the lamp was, there came a knock—a quiet tap, tap.

“…”

At first, she wasn’t sure. The sound had been almost drowned out by the rain. She froze in place, straining her ears. Again came the tap, tap.

I didn’t imagine it.

What time was it? Eight o’clock? Nine? Was that a reasonable time for someone to visit? She wasn’t sure.

It’ll be fine, she reassured herself. Mixel had promised to station guards nearby. Even if someone dangerous had come for her, she should be safe. But no matter how hard she tried to think positively, her heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

Are they really there?

Mel had never seen the guards Mixel claimed were protecting her. What if they were slacking off? Or had they stepped away for some reason?

It had been a long time since she had felt a genuine physical threat, making her fear all the more vivid. Terrified, Mel’s trembling hand reached for the rake leaning against the wall by the door.

Holding her breath, she listened intently, but there were no further sounds. No more knocks. No signs of movement.

Did they leave?

Her tension slowly eased, allowing her to straighten her back.

Maybe I really did imagine it.

As she wavered, an unexpected sound faintly reached her ears—a small, thin cry.

It was the meow of Bibi, the stray cat she cared for. What was she doing in this rain, coming for food?

Without further thought, Mel dropped the rake and flung the door open.

The scene before her was nothing like what she had imagined.

Standing on the front porch was a man as large as Mixel. He held a black umbrella, though it did little to keep him dry. He was drenched, and his umbrella was tilted outward, shielding a white cat just outside the porch.

Mel’s body, which had stiffened at the sight, gradually relaxed. First, she called out to the cat.

“…Come here, Bibi.”

The cat, tail raised, padded over and rubbed against her leg.

As the cat moved, Mel cautiously turned her attention to the man. His wet hair clung to his face, and water dripped from his drooping eyelashes.

His pale cheeks were tinged with blue, and his sharp, delicate features seemed to have been carved from stone.

His gray-green eyes, mixed with a hint of ash, had been fixed intently on her when she opened the door.