The villagers remained where they stood, watching until the Queen's silhouette faded into the distance. Among them, Enna's eyes lingered—not on the Queen, but on the lone figure riding quietly behind her.
Jade rode in silence, his dark silhouette growing smaller with each step his horse took down the winding forest path.
In Enna's eyes, calm and sorrow coexisted like twilight and dusk—muted, but undeniable.
Around her, villagers began to stir, the chill of the autumn air finally breaking the spell of the royal visit. One by one, they turned back toward their homes, rubbing their hands and pulling their coats tighter.
Beside Enna, her young attendant blew warm breath into her palms, shivering slightly.
"My lady," she asked gently, "shall we go now?"
Only then did Enna stir from her reverie. She glanced at her attendant and noticed her trembling shoulders. Her voice was soft, distant.
"Yes… let's go."
They began walking slowly along the dirt path that led back into the heart of the village. The trees whispered in the breeze above them, but the silence between the two women hung heavier than the cold.
After a moment, the servant peered up at Enna, concern flickering in her eyes.
"My lady, forgive me if I'm being forward, but… is something troubling you? You seem… quieter than usual. Sad, even."
Enna paused for a heartbeat before shaking her head, her voice barely more than a breath.
"I'm fine…"
The servant tilted her head, unconvinced.
"Is it because Her Majesty is leaving? I suppose it's only natural to feel a bit lonely after such a visit."
Enna's steps slowed. She hesitated, then managed a faint, practiced smile.
"Yes… I think I do feel a little sad that Her Majesty is leaving."
The servant chuckled, relieved by the answer.
"My lady, you're too kindhearted. Of course Her Majesty has to return to the palace—she belongs there. Don't be sad. I'm sure you'll see her again someday."
Enna gave another small smile—this one even softer, almost invisible.
"Yes… perhaps. I hope so."
But her heart whispered a different truth.
As the wind picked up, Enna tucked her face into the folds of her thick fur scarf, hiding the ache in her expression.
'What I truly hope… is to see you again, Minister Jade.'
The Queen and her entourage had departed from the borderlands at first light, riding through the long day without pause, save for brief rests that barely eased the fatigue. Now, under a canopy of stars, their horses trod the narrow passes of the darkened mountains. The air grew colder as the last hues of dusk bled from the sky, leaving only the moon to cast its pale watch over them.
Far ahead, beyond the rolling silhouette of hills, Queen Genie caught sight of the royal palace—its faint outline like a memory summoned by candlelight. A flicker of relief crossed her face, but her eyes soon settled on the figure riding just beside her.
Jade rode upright despite the weariness evident in his movements. Queen Genie turned to him, her voice low but resolute.
"When we arrive at the palace, go directly to the royal physician and complete your treatment, Jade."
Jade offered a faint smile.
"It can wait, Your Majesty. There's much to do now that I've returned after so long."
Genie frowned, the moonlight catching in her eyes.
"No. See the physician as soon as we arrive."
The edge in her voice made Jade smile again—gently this time, as if humoring a stubborn child.
"I need to reorganize the military, inspect the capital's armory… And the new generals—Wanan and Mobo—need briefing."
"Danjin," Queen Genie said without looking back, "those duties are now yours."
Danjin, the deputy commander, riding a few paces behind, stiffened.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Genie turned to Jade with a glint of triumph in her gaze.
"You heard that, right? Danjin will handle it. Your only task is to get treated."
Jade let out a breath that might've been a laugh—or a sigh.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
They rode in silence for a while, the only sound the rhythmic beat of hooves on stone. Then Genie tilted her head, her tone suddenly curious, almost playful.
"Jade," she began, guiding her horse with easy grace, "how long did you study abroad in the Ash Kingdom?"
He blinked, clearly caught off guard. For a moment, he seemed to calculate how much of the past to share.
Then he answered evenly, "For quite some time, Your Majesty."
Genie's gaze drifted to the two generals riding with the rear guard, their uniforms still bearing the subtle tailoring of the Ash Kingdom's military tradition.
"I saw Wanan and Mobo earlier, and it made me wonder," she mused aloud. "Why did you choose to study there, of all places? Isn't our own Hana Kingdom's military academy among the best in the realm?"
Her question lingered in the cool night air—not just an inquiry, but an invitation to reveal something more.
"I had a relative living in the Ash Kingdom at the time," Jade replied, his voice calm, measured. "With their help, I studied there for a while."
"I see."
Jade kept his gaze ahead, hoping her curiosity had been satisfied. But Queen Genie, her mind always turning, pressed on.
"What was the military academy like in the Ash Kingdom?"
Jade hesitated, the reins tightening subtly in his hands.
"It was a long time ago," he said. "I don't remember much."
"Still, tell me," Genie persisted, her voice thoughtful. "I wonder if there's anything our Hana Kingdom can learn from it."
There was a pause. The air between them thickened with unspoken memories. Then Jade, finally at ease enough to let the past surface, fell into silence—not of evasion, but of recollection.
"…Something to learn from the Ash Kingdom," he echoed softly.
The distant sound of hooves faded for him, replaced by an echo from another time, another country—twenty years gone, yet etched vividly in his mind.
He was thirteen again, standing in the wide, sunlit hall of the Ash Kingdom's National Military School. Stone pillars lined the sides of the training arena, and banners bearing the kingdom's crest fluttered faintly overhead. Sweat soaked through his tunic, and the scent of dust and steel filled his lungs.
"This year," barked the instructor, his voice booming over the rows of kneeling students, "the only warrior who achieved an undefeated record in our National Tournament is—Jade! Step forward!"
The hall erupted in murmurs. Jade shot up, darting forward through the crowd with the unthinking precision of a blade in flight.
He stopped before the instructor, standing tall despite the ache in his limbs.
The instructor swept his gaze across the rows of young warriors, his expression sharp and unsparing.
"All of you, look at Jade—top of the class, again! This is the standard! Push yourselves harder!"
Then he turned his glare back on Jade, eyes narrowing.
"There are ten warriors here who have never won a single match." His voice turned cold. "What punishment do you think they deserve?"
The question dropped into the room like a stone into still water. Tension rippled outward.
Jade blinked, startled.
"...Punishment, Sir?"
"Yes. Punishment." The man's voice cracked like a whip. "To attend the Ash Kingdom's National Military School and never win a match—do you understand what shame that brings to our nation?"
Around him, students shifted uncomfortably. Some trembled. No one dared look up.
Jade lowered his head, unable to speak. The question hung in the air like a blade above his neck.
He couldn't bring himself to suggest a punishment for his fellow students—not when he had seen their bruises, their bloodied knuckles, their silent tears after each loss. To condemn them now, before the entire academy, felt like betrayal.
The instructor's voice cut through his hesitation, as sharp and demanding as ever.
"Answer me! What punishment should be given to those who've never won a single duel in the Ash Kingdom's National Military School?"
Jade's mouth opened slightly, but no words came. He stared at the polished stone floor, feeling the weight of dozens of eyes on his back.
The present returned with a sharp shift—the rhythmic clip of hooves on the royal road, the soft clink of bridles under autumn breeze. They had entered the King's Road, a sacred path few ever trod. The royal palace loomed larger now, gilded towers catching the last breath of twilight.
Jade finally spoke. "There is nothing to learn from them, Your Majesty."
Queen Genie turned her head, caught off guard by the sudden reply.
"Nothing to learn?"
"Nothing at all," Jade said, his tone flat and absolute. "There is not a single thing worth learning from the Ash Kingdom's military academy."
She blinked, surprised by the harsh finality in his voice. For a moment, she simply studied him in profile—the set of his jaw, the distant look in his eyes.
"I understand," she said at last, her voice gentle.
Jade felt the weight of his own words settle heavily on his chest. Perhaps he had spoken too sternly.
He let out a quiet breath and softened his tone. "The memories I have of that time are… not good ones. I suppose I've never really wanted to recall them."
Genie's gaze lingered on him a moment longer. Only now did she realize what she had missed all these years—how Jade's expression always hardened slightly, how his shoulders grew tense, whenever the Ash Kingdom was mentioned.
"I didn't know," she said quietly. "I've asked too many questions about your time there. I won't bring it up again."
The apology in her voice struck him harder than her curiosity ever could.
Jade looked at her then—really looked. The Queen rode beside him with the effortless poise of royalty, her face open and free of suspicion. She trusted him completely. And that trust, unguarded and absolute, made something ache inside him.
Guilt. Not the sharp kind, but the kind that lingered—quiet and consuming.
She didn't know the truth. Not the whole of it. Not the parts he had carefully buried beneath years of silence.
'Your Majesty… for all that I've deceived you… I will repay it. With loyalty. Even if I can never tell you everything… I will serve you until the very end.'