They arrived in front of a grand stone building—tall, ivy-draped, with stained glass windows and gold-tipped lanterns illuminating the entrance. One of the city’s most famous restaurants.

Inside, the host bowed politely but hesitated when Mer asked for a second-floor table.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “the upper level is reserved for nobles or recognized court members.”

Cecil reached into his vest and pulled out a silver badge.

The host’s eyes widened.

“A tribute for a decade of service?” the man said, flustered. “Please forgive me—this way, sir, madam.”

Mer glanced at the badge as they ascended the staircase.

“What is this?”

Cecil placed it in her palm. “A token given to court wizards after ten years.”

She stared. “How long have you been serving?”

“I became a registered mage at nine. I’m twenty-eight now.”

She blinked. “Next year, you’ll earn the gold.”

He nodded. “If I live that long.”

“Don’t joke like that.”

He smiled gently. “You’re right.”

Then she tilted her head. “You always say I’m impressive… but you’ve been serving this kingdom since you were a child. That’s beyond impressive.”

“And you’re a successful businesswoman,” he said. “Don’t forget. Is this one of yours?”

She grinned. “You noticed?”

“I had a feeling.”

“This one’s managed by Clara—my best friend.”

“Clara… Eric’s fiancée?”

“So you’ve heard.”

“Your brother told me about her when we were stationed in Carats.”

Mer sighed. “They’ve been engaged for three years. I don’t know what Eric’s waiting for. Poor Clara.”

They laughed, sharing bites of honey-braised duck and spiced vegetables.

The view outside their window showed a garden park bathed in lamplight. Flower beds swayed gently in the breeze, their petals catching the evening glow. The stars overhead began to show, faint but steady.

Everything felt soft, quiet, magical.

Their hands met across the table.

And for a time, the war, the darkness, the questions—it all disappeared.

---

She woke in bed, still wrapped in Cecil’s arms, the rhythm of his breath a comfort against her spine.

Her eyes blinked open, words escaping softly into the dim room.

“…Clara? Eric’s fiancée?”

—

The sunlight filtered softly through the greenhouse glass, casting warm reflections on the table where Mer sat, a delicate cup of tea in her hands.

Through the glass, she watched Frederick as he carefully tended the mana stone beds, humming under his breath, gloves covered in dark soil. The stones hummed faintly as he worked, content, cradled in soil and magic.

Mer exhaled slowly, her eyes distant.

Clara.

She hadn’t thought of her in years. Back in Sovia Academy, Clara had been her classmate—and Eric’s nemesis. They’d been known across campus for their constant bickering: trading insults in class, launching hexes in practice duels. Clara once sent Eric flying into the pond behind the herbology gardens, and Eric froze her entire dorm room a week later.

It had seemed like rivalry.

But now… in the dream, they were engaged.

Could it be? Was it something more, even back then?

She couldn’t shake it.

With a soft sigh, Mer rose from her chair and left the greenhouse.

---

She searched the castle.

First, she checked Cecil’s office—empty. She tried the training grounds, where the echo of swords rang, but he wasn’t there. The kitchens, the garden’s far edge, the library tower, and even their own chamber.

Nowhere.

Still, she felt him near. A lingering thread between them.

The dungeon, she thought.

She followed the feeling down the silent corridor, deeper into the lower halls where the stone turned cold and the lamps burned low. Finally, she reached a large iron door. It creaked open under her hand.

A stone staircase led downward.

The air grew heavier, cooler with each step. Cells lined the walls—clean, surprisingly so, with polished floors and reinforced bars. No scent of rot, no damp mildew. But something darker hung in the air.

A low growl.

Not human.

Not even close.

She followed the sound until she found a group gathered before a reinforced cage. Cecil, Sir Callum, and three other knights stood in tense formation, swords half-drawn.

Inside the cage crouched a creature—small, for what it was. Its head barely reached Mer’s waist, and though its frame was lean, its presence was unmistakably monstrous. Thick black fur cloaked its body, softest and fullest around its two tails, which twitched with unease. Its red eyes glowed dimly in the shadows, wide and watchful, more wary than wild.

There were no scars on its body, save for one open wound on its hind leg—angry, swollen, and still bleeding. The creature looked thin, underfed, its ribs just beginning to show beneath the heavy fur.

A hellhound.

It was young.

A baby, in truth.

And it was scared.

It snarled, ramming its tails against the bars.

The metal began to frost over.

Mer stepped closer.

The hellhound whined suddenly and stopped attacking. It recoiled—not in fear, but in recognition. Its crimson gaze fixed on her, low growls rising from its throat.

Everyone turned.

“Duchess?” Callum said, surprised.

“What is that?” Mer asked, stopping just behind the knights.

Cecil stepped forward. “A hellhound. It attacked a village west of Ravenrow—burned crops, scattered livestock. When we found it, it was already wounded.”

Mer studied the creature. “It’s hurt.”

“Likely why it came to the village,” Cecil said. “Hurt and hungry.”

She tilted her head. “Why didn’t you kill it?”

“Because of its blood,” Cecil replied grimly. “It’s poisonous. We’d have to drain it properly and incinerate the body. It’s not safe to do that anywhere near a town.”

Mer looked back at the beast. It was panting now, its gaze still locked on her. Something about the way it had reacted… it knew.

“Don’t kill it,” she said.

Cecil’s voice dropped. “Mer…”

“I want it.”

“It’s dangerous. This isn’t some pet—this is a monster.”

“I can tame it.”

“Madam,” Sir Callum interjected, “with all due respect, it’s not safe—”

She stepped forward.

And frowned.

And then—began to chant.

“Mer, what are you doing?!” Cecil snapped, already moving toward her.

But before any of them could stop her, she vanished.

Inside the cage.

The hellhound froze, then whimpered and sank to its belly, its head pressed to the floor. It didn’t move. It didn’t snarl. It submitted.

Mer crouched down, ignoring the gasps behind her. She reached forward, her fingers glowing faintly as she cast a healing spell. The beast’s back leg twitched, the deep wound closing, matted blood vanishing into smoke.

It let out a low, trembling growl—not of pain, but something closer to relief.

One of the knights fumbled with the cage keys, but stopped cold when the creature shuffled forward… and nuzzled its head against Mer’s feet.

She smiled, stroking its thick fur.

“Seems like I’ve got a pet,” she said softly.

---

Cecil stood motionless outside the bars, expression unreadable.

The hellhound didn’t even glance at him.