— Sir Fliorenzi!
A deep, black sky, a vastness of dunes made of ashen sands. This was what Flior saw before him. There were no burning houses or people, no smoke filling his lungs, no soldiers or the sun's heat upon him. Leonor was not there.
A strange place, perhaps even frightening. Flior did not see this place that way. He did not look at the sands with fear or wonder where he was. Here was a place that brought a feeling similar to what the beautiful landscape brought: peace. Why fear peace? Why try to drive it away with superfluous thoughts? Let your being flow, think of everything, but think of nothing. The vastness gives you the comfort to think and the comfort to deny reason. Let yourself drift with the sands, move as the breeze moves.
It was an environment disconnected from reality, but it brought nothing but comfort to Flior. If the news that his "family" had been executed was so desperate, why did he feel so good being alone? Flior showed no reaction other than a serene smile. Something there blocked his fears, insecurities, traumas, or pains.
— It's good to be back here... it's like I belong to this desert.
— Welcome back, my dear friend — a deep voice resonated through the dunes. It was sweet, calm, but also ethereal.
A soft smile deepened on Flior's face.
— Conde... I've missed you.
— It's relieving to see your humanity prevails even through everything, but I sense you're not here just to catch up, are you? — the ethereal voice was present from all directions.
— In truth, I don't even know what I'm doing here, I never did. Anyway, even if I have no objective, I like being here... it's calm.
Flior lay down carelessly on the sand and closed his eyes, to hear only the breeze that hovered over the dunes.
— You know, you've always been content with so little... why, even after seeing the "heavens," do you wish to remain here?
That ethereal voice that came from all directions now appeared close to Flior.
— I don't wish to remain here, it's just that... this, this place, at least it's palpable and not just an illusion.
Flior opened his eyes upon realizing Conde's voice was closer and then saw something that would be surreal even within the logic-defying context he was in. Not that everything that had happened until that moment was logical or rational.
Flior saw a curious bird that quickly tilted its head from side to side. It's a It was a golden pheasant, a brushstroke of color on the desert's muted canvas. Flior then remained contemplating the beautiful.
— You are mistaken in thinking that this place is more real than the paradise you experienced. You are no longer bound by the obligations of a Reaper, Flior. You could view everything that happened as a second chance to do everything differently, to seek the meaning of living. Stop clinging to this conformism, prove that you are not mentally fragile, and grasp the hope of experiencing paradise once more.
Flior stared intently at the golden pheasant. He wanted to answer, but he knew that no matter what, Conde was right. Someone who never had the opportunity to live, to lose this new chance due to conformity with everything that had occurred until then? The death of his family did not weigh as heavily as he said it did; what hurt most about knowing they were dead was realizing the time he had lost in Covak, what he had to endure until he was graduated.
— Sir!
Flior knew it was much easier to remain there, inert. But he also knew that embracing the moment would mean abandoning his ambitions, dreams, and desires; above all, he would forgo the opportunity to discover life.
That alone would render his years of training and experiences in Covak meaningless and purposeless. Even in hell, he could find the path to the heavens, and with that thought, Flior rekindled the flame within his being. It wouldn't be easy; nothing in Haile is... but is that enough to extinguish the boy's dreams?
With a blink, everything went dark. There was no desert or a faded sky, much less a beautiful bird before him. Before Flior was only a white vastness, an empty canvas yearning to be painted.
— Sir, wake up! Lady Leonor wishes to see you!
Flior opened his eyes and saw that he was no longer in that entirely white place. He was lying on a comfortable bed under a thick, red blanket made of fine fabric. The floor and walls were covered in grayish-white marble. In the same room, there was a huge window overlooking a city that stretched beyond the horizon.
At the base of that same window were some dark ceramic pots with mixed flowers, lavender and delphinium. The wind carried the fragrance and freshness of the flowers into the room, giving it a sweet, refreshing, and comfortable air. In the same place, there were two large, thick red curtains, somewhat similar to Flior's blanket. The young man's vision was still adjusting to the room's brightness.
Trying to collect his thoughts, he sat at the edge of the bed and looked at his hands. The hands of the one who bore the label "The Fragile" were not fragile at all. They were covered in small scars and some calluses at the base of his fingers. A huge city seen from a high window. Marble, fine red fabrics... flowers. Flior had an idea of where he was, he just didn't know how he had gotten there or why he was there.
— What does Leonor want with me?
Flior asked, still looking at his hands.
— Sir! Do not address Lady Leonor in that manner! — the female voice exclaimed and then continued:
— Lady Leonor wishes to have a conversation with you, that is all I was told.
Flior then shifted his focus from his hands and began to look at his own attire. His suit made of black bands was no longer there; it had been replaced by a thin white shirt with golden buttons, and below it were loose, earthy brown trousers.
The six-button shirt was unbuttoned at the top down to his chest, revealing a golden medallion with the imperial symbol: the hand and the sun. Upon seeing that he was no longer in his suit, Flior questioned:
— Did they undress me while I was unconscious?
Flior shifted his attention to the bedroom door, the exact direction from which the female voice came.
— If only it were that simple, sir... you didn't let anyone lay a finger on you. You seemed half-unconscious, but still aware. You put on the clothes yourself.
The woman had reddish hair at neck height. Her face seemed delicate, and the jade-green sparkle in her eyes further enhanced that delicacy. Her clothes were exactly like Flior's, however, she did not have the same medallion.
— Only the medallion was not placed by you, sir. Lady Leonor herself placed it, without even touching you.
Flior then looked at the medallion, analyzed it for a few seconds while holding it, and then looked at the woman again, ready to speak.
— We wear the same clothes and even the cut is similar... but why do I alone have this necklace?
Flior stood up from the bed and continued looking at the woman, awaiting an answer.
— Oh, you are Lady Leonor's property; few have such an opportunity! This necklace, or rather, amulet, is a way to show your caste and to whom you belong. In this case, you belong to the D'Lart family and are a royal servant; no one besides Lady Leonor and the Monarch himself can give you orders. — the woman spoke tenderly and with a beautiful smile on her face.
— So now I'm a servant of Najiri's royalty? I never imagined this kind of thing happening to me... by the way, you don't look much like a servant. Your way of speaking and even your chaste face make me think you're from a noble family too.
The woman then smiled even wider, as if she had been waiting for this question for a long time. Soon she replied:
— Indeed, you are not entirely incorrect. I come from House Tristan, the head house of Lhora, but I no longer bear the name Tristan; I renounced it as soon as I chose to follow Lady Leonor. My name is Felicia, and soon I will bear the title of Vechant.
Flior looked at her with narrowed eyes, as if he had no idea what the woman was talking about.
— Vechant? Tristan? Look, I didn't understand a damn thing, but since you're not a servant, why do you wear the same clothes as me?
Felicia, about to say something, remembered why she was there.
— As much as I'd like to tell you more about myself, you cannot keep Lady Leonor waiting for too long. Lady Leonor is always very busy, and with the added preparation for her wedding, everything has become even more chaotic. Follow me; I will take you to her.
Upon hearing "wedding," Flior made a confused expression. Who would have thought that in the midst of a civil war there would be time for such a celebration? Even with that thought in mind, he followed Felicia down a long corridor, a corridor that followed the same organizational pattern as the room where he had been resting.
Marble everywhere, several windows with jars and flowers, but no flowers similar or identical to those in Flior's room. There was a grand red carpet adorned with beautiful golden flower embroidery in high relief. It was grand, but empty; there was no one there but Flior and Felicia. The two walked for a long time; the corridor seemed endless. After the long walk, they came upon a grand arched entrance, also made of marble.
Flior saw before him a huge two-story library. It had a circular shape, and on both the left and right sides were two helical staircases that led to the second floor. In the center, Leonor stood, leaning against a grand round table exactly opposite the arched entrance.
When Leonor shifted her gaze from something on the table and saw Flior, she looked at him with an expression of indifference.
She exhaled through her lips, rose to her feet, and opened her arms wide toward him, sudden and warm.
— My dear Fliorenzi... I've been waiting. There is much we must talk about.