Morning did not break in Vanhart territory that day.
It unfolded.
Quietly.
The sky was silver-white, neither dawn nor day, as if the sun hesitated to rise before witnessing something first. Frost still gripped the land, but from the courtyard one could see the faintest stirring of harlroot leaves—upright, resilient.
It was the final day.
The last session.
Kel von Rosenfeld opened his eyes before the birds sang.
Early Morning
He sat beneath the window in his guest chamber, breath slow, aura rippling in fine layers around him like hushed wind. Training began as always—with the expansion of the Root Core Sphere.
Aura pulsed like red embers under his skin.
Pain followed.
As it always did.
Not from curse, but from strain. Limits were no longer walls—they were thresholds.
Sairen's voice brushed his thoughts.
"You burn too quickly."
"And grow too slowly," he replied.
She said nothing more.
After two hours, he released the breath he'd held. A thin wisp of steam left his lips. His coat was already folded near the bed; he moved with practiced silence, washing, dressing.
By the time he entered the dining hall, his expression held no trace of fatigue.
Only conviction.
Count Vanhart, Viscount Malloren, Reina, Sera, and Landon were already seated.
Lysenne sat in her usual position—composed, hands folded over her lap to hide the subtle tremor.
She did not look at Kel when he entered.
She did not need to.
Her breath caught regardless.
Kel greeted no one. He simply sat, poured tea, and ate.
Only after the table quieted did he speak.
He turned to Viscount Malloren.
His voice was calm, toneless.
"Today," Kel said, placing his cup down, "your daughter will walk."
No dramatics.
No reassurance.
A statement.
"Today, I will fulfill my promise."
Malloren's grip over his cup tightened.
His eyes lowered.
"…I trust you," he whispered.
Lysenne did not look up.
But both her hands slowly closed against her knees.
Sera exhaled softly.
Reina looked down.
Landon watched Kel silently, expression unreadable.
Kel stood.
"Shall we begin?"
Treatment Chamber
The room was lit by soft mana lamps, no windows. A table lay at the center, draped in linen. Lysenne rested upon it, her expression calm, breathing even.
Kel kneeled beside her.
He did not speak to reassure her.
Words were no longer needed.
He placed his right hand upon her abdomen.
His left upon her shin.
His breath narrowed, and the air around them shifted.
Mana flowed.
Smooth and slow.
Red threads, invisible to eye, spread through Lysenne's lower body—not as energy, but as a precise scalpel made from will.
He mapped every bone.
Every vein.
Every muscle fibre.
Dissected pain. Reconstructed function.
Externally, nothing moved—not a twitch, not a cut, not a glow.
Internally—
A surgery that would have crippled seasoned healers unfolded with ghostly silence.
Lysenne felt warmth first.
Then pressure.
Then… tremor.
Her toes twitched.
Mana wrapped every broken line, reforging them without force. His aura guided, his breath steady like winter wind carving mountains.
Five hours passed.
Kel remained kneeling throughout, hands unwavering.
Sweat beaded at his temples.
One drop fell to the floor.
None saw.
The Awakening
When he finally withdrew his hands, the room was eerily quiet.
Kel's voice came soft, lower than before.
"Try to stand."
Lysenne's eyes trembled.
She swallowed.
Slowly, she nodded.
Hands pressed against the table edge.
Her breath caught.
Her legs—
responded.
Not fully.
Not gracefully.
But they held.
She pushed.
She wavered.
Kel moved slightly—not to assist, but to be ready if she fell.
She did not.
Her fingers shook as she released the table.
And she stood.
Soundlessly.
Everyone in the room froze.
Lysenne's eyes widened.
She stepped.
One step.
Pain followed.
But the pain was movement.
Not collapse.
Tears spilled down her cheeks before she realized she was crying.
Kel finally spoke.
"You can walk," he said, voice steady as frost. "But do not strain. Your lower body is still adjusting. One month of gradual restoration—then you may run, jump, sprint."
His eyes softened just a fraction.
"After that, any footwork you desire."
She stared at him through tears.
"…Thank you," she whispered.
Kel did not reply.
She took another step.
Then another.
Malloren collapsed to his knees.
He choked silently, both hands covering his mouth.
Kel turned toward him.
"I completed my promise," he said simply.
He tilted his head.
"So you won't be taking my life, Viscount Malloren?"
Malloren raised his face—eyes red, voice broken.
"No…" he whispered. "No. In contrast—"
He stood on shaking legs.
"I owe you a debt I cannot repay."
Kel watched him quietly.
No pride.
No satisfaction.
Only acknowledgment.
He looked to Lysenne.
She stood now fully upright.
Shaking.
Alive.
He turned away.
"Rest. Dinner awaits."
As They Walked to the Dining Hall
Kel gently lifted Lysenne in his arms.
As if she were made of glass.
She did not protest.
Her face buried against his shoulder, not from fragility—
But because tears would not stop.
They reached the dining hall.
Conversations halted.
Reina's eyes widened, hand tightening on her cup.
Sera's lips parted, then curved into a rare, quiet smile.
Count Vanhart stood from his seat.
Landon bowed his head slightly.
Kel lowered Lysenne slowly into her chair, kneeling so her feet touched the floor gently.
He straightened.
His coat fell in quiet ripples.
No one spoke.
Then—
Lysenne whispered, not to anyone else—
"Kel…"
He looked at her.
She smiled—quiet, still crying.
"I feel the ground."
Kel nodded once.
"You should."
Outside—
winter wind swept across the fields.
Harlroot leaves swayed.
Not bending.
As if they too remembered how to stand.