The last thing Sven placed in the chest was a moonstone necklace, one of the few belongings that still held a trace of his lost homeland. It struck him, then, how his entire life could fit into a single case. In any case, he would not need anything more in the palace.

Nébula drifted through the room, taking in the space they would leave behind that very afternoon, as if, in her own way, she too were saying goodbye. Sven gently stroked her ears.

“I’ll miss our bed a little,” the creature said softly, “but perhaps we’ll have an even nicer one.”

Truth be told, Sven did not feel deeply attached to his guardians’ mansion. Even there, he had sometimes felt out of place. He had always known that this home was only temporary—a refuge until he came of age and could fulfill the arranged marriage with King Eidan.

Lord Edmure and Lady Amelia, noble survivors of the tragedy of Delphen, had been appointed as his guardians. They had known his parents while serving as courtiers in the moon kingdom, and they enjoyed the trust of both Delphen’s nobility and that of Diodain. They were the ones he would truly miss.

He made his way to the main hall, where he found the couple watching as several palace knights loaded his few belongings onto the carriage.

“Are you ready, my dear?” Lady Amelia asked in a maternal tone.

“Yes. I didn’t have much to pack. I’ll carry Nébula in my arms.”

“Are you not taking your family relic?” Lord Edmure interjected, gesturing toward a silver display case.

Sven followed his gaze. Inside rested an exquisite silver spear, adorned with ornaments of perpetual ice. It had belonged to his father and had been passed down through generations. If not for Lord Edmure, Sven would never have learned the art of combat.

“No,” he replied after a moment. “I think it will be safe here.”

He gave a slight bow.

“Thank you for taking care of me all this time. I will always be grateful.”

Lady Amelia had to blink several times before stepping forward to embrace him. Lord Edmure gave him a firm pat on the shoulder.

“Until we meet again, my prince,” he said, a trace of bitterness in his voice. “Please… be very happy.”

Now came the hardest part, which was why Sven had left it for last—even after settling Nébula into the carriage.

He made his way to the back courtyard, feeling the pressure in his chest tighten with every step. He found Dyro splitting logs with overwhelming force, so excessive that even for his skill it was unsettling.

“Brother, I came to say goodbye,” he said, his voice barely breaking.

“I’ve told you not to call me that,” Dyro replied without turning.

Sven could only see how the young man’s long silver hair gleamed under the sunlight. He had always been cold, but this time his words cut like blades.

“I don’t want to leave without seeing you properly.”

“It doesn’t matter. That man already won.”

Dyro grabbed another log and brought the axe down with a brutal strike, splitting it clean in two. The crack echoed through the courtyard.

Sven sighed. That absurd rivalry between Dyro and Eidan always left him feeling powerless. There was nothing to be gained from it.

“We always knew this day would come,” Dyro finally said, turning toward him. “But time passed too quickly.”

He was right. It felt like only yesterday that the two of them had been thrown into a carriage to flee that tragic night. As if it had also been yesterday when his father, King Alear, arrived at the palace holding the hand of an orphan boy with sorrowful eyes.

From this day on, treat him as a brother.

Sven had recognized then the same pain he carried within himself, and he embraced him without hesitation—promising, without words, that he would not be alone.

From that day on, they had been inseparable—in laughter and in tragedy. Dyro was the son of his father’s most loyal royal guard, the man who had died protecting his king. He had inherited both his mastery with the blade and an unbreakable loyalty. Sometimes, perhaps, too much of it.

That was why he clashed so often with Eidan. And Sven had never known how to keep those two prides from colliding.

“No matter what happens,” he said at last, “we will always be bound by the same story.”

Dyro embraced him tightly, like someone clinging to something irreplaceable. He wished that moment would never end.

“I’ll be seeing you soon.”

“Please visit me often,” Sven asked, holding back his tears.

“Nothing could keep me from it,” Dyro replied, a faint smile forming on his lips.

And Sven knew it was true.

Before a tear could slip free, he turned and made his way back toward the front of the mansion. There, another carriage awaited him—far more majestic than the last.

By the entrance, he caught sight of a familiar figure.

Eidan smiled as he saw his betrothed approach.