Masha glided forward, her steps soundless against the tatami. When she reached the spot where Caladbolg had sat moments ago, she turned, the hem of her dark robe whispering across the floor, and gracefully lowered herself. Crossing one leg over the other, she sat with a natural elegance that seemed both royal and predatory — as if the seat itself belonged to her long before Caladbolg ever touched it.
Her amber eyes shimmered under the lanternlight, catching the faint reflection of Kazel's guarded expression. For a moment, neither spoke. The faint hum of cicadas from outside filled the silence between them.
Then Masha leaned back, resting her elbow on the armrest, and tilted her head slightly — her lips curving into a knowing smile.
"I've heard," she began, her tone lilting, almost playful, "that you almost got married."
The words hung in the air like perfume — light, teasing, but with an undertone sharp enough to draw blood.
Kazel's brow twitched. The flickering lanternlight painted half his face in gold, half in shadow. He exhaled slowly through his nose, his gaze unreadable, yet the faintest tension betrayed him.
He leaned back slightly, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "Almost got married, huh?" he said, voice dripping with irony. "And who told you that? Caladbolg? That bag of bones can't keep his jaw shut even without flesh, or was it Saya?"
Masha chuckled softly — a sound that was half amusement, half provocation. "Oh, so it's true then," she said, tilting her head. Her white braid slipped over her shoulder, glowing faintly in the lamplight. "You really were going to settle down, Lord Kazel. I must say, that surprises me. Did you ever tie the knot after I died?"
Her question came like a dagger wrapped in silk. Her amber eyes didn't blink — searching him, prying at the pieces he kept buried.
Kazel's smirk faltered, fading into something quieter. He stared at the floor for a moment before letting out a hollow chuckle. "No," he finally said. "There was never time for that."
Masha's gaze softened slightly, but she said nothing.
"I kept fighting," he went on, his voice dropping into something heavier. "One war after another. One rebellion after the next. They said I was uniting the world." He paused, his jaw tightening. "But it didn't feel like unity. Just… exhaustion that never ended. Until I finally fell."
The room fell silent except for the faint hiss of rain outside.
Masha looked down at her hands, her teasing smile gone. "You never changed," she whispered. "Even when you should've lived, you only knew how to fight."
Kazel gave a small grin — one that didn't reach his eyes. "And you," he said, voice low, "still know how to make dying sound poetic."
Masha leaned back where Caladbolg had once sat, her gaze never leaving him. The curve of her lips faded into something quieter — thoughtful, almost mournful. "Tell me then," she said, voice soft as the rain tapping against the wooden roof. "Was it worth it? Uniting the world… bringing the peace you used to talk about so much?"
Kazel looked down at his palms — scarred, even in this life. His fingers twitched faintly, as if remembering the weight of a blade that was no longer there. For a moment, he said nothing. Only the sound of thunder filled the silence between them.
Then, slowly, he nodded. "Yes," he said. "It was worth it."
Masha tilted her head, her amber eyes searching him for deceit, for denial — but found only tired truth.
"Under my rule," Kazel continued, "there was less blood in the streets. Fewer orphans. Less corruption wearing crowns and pretending it was justice. The world stopped bleeding for a while."
He looked up at her then, a faint glimmer in his eyes that was not quite pride — nor regret. "But peace doesn't last. Not when greed still breathes."
Masha's brows furrowed. "Greed?"
Kazel's gaze drifted, unfocused — as if he were staring past the walls, past the years. "The last rebellion wasn't born from hunger or despair," he said. "It came from men who already had everything. Generals, nobles, heroes… those I had once raised myself."
He exhaled slowly, voice rough with the weight of memory. "There were ten thousand of them. All trained, all hungry for more. I fought until my body gave up — until time and death both tried to claim me."
His lips twitched upward, a bitter smile shadowed by the flicker of the oil lamp. "And they did. Eventually."
The silence after his words was thick — heavy enough that even the rain seemed to pause.
Masha didn't look away. Her expression softened, the teasing from before nowhere to be found. "You sound like someone who won the world," she said quietly, "and lost himself in the process."
Kazel chuckled under his breath, the sound hollow but sincere. "Maybe that's the price for peace."
Masha leaned forward, her amber eyes glimmering under the dim light — not with mischief this time, but with something far deeper. "Then perhaps…" she said softly, her tone threading through the rain outside, "in this world, you could finally reach what you always wanted."
Kazel raised an eyebrow. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
"In your old world, your peace died with you," Masha said, her voice laced with melancholy and wonder. "But here… things are different. The higher your cultivation, the stronger your soul becomes — the longer you live."
She crossed her legs, resting her chin upon her hand as her smile curved faintly. "Eternal peace isn't just a dream anymore, Lord Kazel. In this realm, it's something you can grasp… if you climb high enough."
Kazel looked away, the words sinking in like stones into a still lake. The thought of peace through cultivation — of peace that no longer required war — flickered in his mind, uncertain, foreign.
He exhaled through his nose, faint amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. "Eternal peace…" he murmured. "You make it sound so easy."
Masha's gaze softened. "It's not easy," she replied. "But it's possible. And maybe—" her tone lowered to a whisper, "—you deserve that chance this time."
For a long moment, Kazel said nothing. The rain whispered across the roof. The world outside was quiet. Inside, only their breathing filled the space — the once tyrant and the girl who had once followed him, now master and grandmaster, sitting beneath the same storm once more.
Kazel's expression softened, almost imperceptibly. "Then let's see," he said at last, "if this world allows peace to last longer than I did."
Masha smiled faintly. "Let's."
Masha tilted her head slightly, her voice dipping into a tone that was almost teasing — yet heavy with an undertone of longing. "Or…" she said, her lips curling faintly as her amber eyes traced his face, "maybe… you could settle down."
Kazel blinked, caught off guard by the softness of her tone. The rain outside hummed like a low orchestra, the candlelight flickering against her pale skin and white braid.
"Settle down?" he repeated, a half-smirk forming as he leaned back. "You make it sound like I'm some old man tired of the sword."
"You're not?" she asked, her brow lifting playfully. "You've fought enough wars for ten lifetimes. You've toppled kings, forged empires, even stared down heaven's wrath." She paused, her gaze lowering — tender, thoughtful. "And still… you chase storms as if peace frightens you more than death."
Kazel's grin faltered. For a moment, the air thickened between them.
He exhaled. "Peace…" he muttered. "It's too quiet. Quiet things make me restless."
Masha smiled faintly, but her eyes shimmered with something wistful. "Maybe it's not quiet you fear," she said, her tone soft as silk. "Maybe you're just afraid that if you stop fighting… you'll have to start living."
Kazel looked at her for a long time — the way her braid rested over her shoulder, the calm certainty in her eyes, the woman who once had been a girl clutching at his cloak on a burning night.
He chuckled lightly. "You talk as if you know me."
"I knew you," she corrected. "And I still do."
The candle flickered once, a gentle flame between the two — and though the storm raged beyond the walls, the silence between them was warm, almost… fragile.
"I've always treated you as a little sister," Kazel said, his voice steady, as if he were reciting a truth that had been etched into the very walls of the room. "From the moment I've held you in my arms."
Masha's lips tightened, a subtle movement that spoke volumes. She didn't answer immediately, as if weighing his words, or perhaps the weight of the silence between them. Then, with a quiet resolve, she stepped forward.
"Of course," she answered, her tone even but carrying an undercurrent of something deeper. "But right now, I'm older than you."
Her voice was a whisper, but it carried the force of a statement. She moved with purpose, her body language shifting from that of a sister to something else entirely. Without another word, she crawled onto his bed, the motion slow and deliberate, like a predator testing its prey.
Kazel's breath caught in his throat. The shift was undeniable. She was no longer the girl who had once looked up to him with wide, trusting eyes. Tonight, she was a woman—sharp, confident, and unafraid.
As she settled above him, her shadow dispersed, revealing the soft white of her hair and the delicate white of her brows. Her skin glowed under the dim light, smooth and untouched, a contrast to the years of life that had passed her by. She was lean, yet there was a strength in her presence that spoke of something more than just age.
Kazel's pupils shrank, his eyes locking onto hers. The emotionless facade he had built around himself cracked slightly, revealing the flicker of something raw and unfiltered. He didn't know what it was—perhaps fear, perhaps admiration, or maybe a mix of both.
The air between them seemed to still, charged with the weight of what was about to happen. The room was silent, save for the soft sound of her breathing, close now, and steady.