Chapter 66: Reconciliation

The details were blurry, like a watercolor painting left out in the rain.

A faint echo of a voice, a mere whisper in the fog of my memory, reached me.

Someone had spoken words to me, and I, with a voice as weak and fragile as a dying ember, had wept.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent against my cold skin.

Only one phrase, clear and resonant amidst the confusion, clung to my consciousness: “I await the moment we meet again in the near future. I will always be in the land of promise.”

This solitary statement was the sole anchor in the vast, swirling ocean of what felt like a forgotten dream.

It was a promise, a beacon, though its meaning remained elusive.

The following morning, a tentative question formed on my lips, directed at the familiar faces that hovered over me.

“Did someone visit my room last night?”

My mother’s soft voice immediately responded, her tone reassuring and gentle.

“Of course, dear. The mansion staff wholeheartedly nursed you.”

But her answer didn’t quite settle the uneasy feeling in my gut.

My mind, still piecing together fragments of the night, insisted on a different truth.

“Not the staff. It was clearly Lord Briyah!”

The moment the name left my lips, a noticeable shift occurred. Mom and Dad exchanged a startled glance, their expressions a mixture of surprise and perhaps something akin to concern.

Their initial shock, however, quickly morphed into relief.

They simply held me tight, their embrace a warm, comforting cocoon, murmuring that now that my body was well, they couldn’t ask for anything more.

The memory of Lord Briyah’s presence, though unconfirmed by them, solidified in my mind.

From that day on, it became an unshakeable conviction, a core belief: Lord Shin Briyah had visited me in the dead of night and, through some mysterious power, had cured my illness.

The conviction was absolute, leaving no room for doubt.

Later, in a quieter moment, I found myself articulating a heartfelt wish.

“So Peri, I hope Lord Briyah visits you too.”

My voice held a genuine warmth, a sincerity born from my own experience.

“Because I want your life to be filled with even more sparkling memories than now, until there’s no more room for beautiful memories.”

As I spoke, I quietly allowed my imagination to paint a vivid picture in my mind: Cherrybelle and Peri, finally meeting.

The image brought a gentle smile to my face. 

They were, in so many ways, utterly different individuals – one perhaps boisterous and free-spirited, the other more reserved and thoughtful. 

Yet, beneath their contrasting exteriors, I sensed an undeniable thread of commonality, shared traits that made me believe they would complement each other beautifully. 

They’d likely start with an initial awkwardness, a tentative dance around unfamiliar personalities. 

Perhaps, like a cat and a dog encountering each other for the first time, they might even snarl and fight, their personalities clashing in minor skirmishes. 

But then, an opposing thought, equally compelling, surfaced. 

What if, instead of conflict, they discovered an profound connection, becoming the closest of friends, truly understanding each other in a way few others could? 

The thought of that future day, which felt both distant and inevitable, brought an even wider, more genuine smile to my lips. It was a future I longed to see unfold.

“And there’s someone I particularly want to introduce you to,” I continued, my voice now filled with a touch of excitement. 

With genuine enthusiasm, I then launched into a detailed account of yesterday’s adventures, painting a vibrant picture for Peri. 

I described the festive streets of Hamilon, a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds, brimming with life and energy. 

I recounted the exhilarating experience of visiting the underground for the first time, a world hidden beneath the familiar, full of its own mysterious charm.

And finally, I spoke of the significant encounter with the priest who diligently serves Wishid, a meeting that had left a lasting impression.

As a final gesture, a tangible representation of the Emperor’s unexpected kindness, I carefully placed the gift he had bestowed upon me on her bedside table.

“This is a two-handed dagger made by the weapon artisan Perelo Kritzel,” I explained, emphasizing its unique origin.

“It’s a gift from His Majesty. I’ll try to bring more interesting stories next time. See you tomorrow then.”

My farewells concluded, I turned, preparing to leave the quiet solace of the room.

It was then, just as I moved, that a subtle movement caught my eye.

Her finger, previously unmoving, completely still, twitched.

A tiny, almost imperceptible tremor, but it was there.

It was Peri’s first movement, a flicker of life in the profound stillness that had surrounded her.

“Peri…?”

I whispered her name, a hopeful question hanging in the air, my heart quickening with anticipation.

But despite my soft call, there was no further movement.

She remained still, once again submerged in a serene, deep sleep, as if the brief twitch had never even occurred.

A wave of self-doubt washed over me.

‘Did I see wrong…?’

I questioned, my mind grappling with the brief, fleeting moment of hope.

Leaving the hushed silence of the sickroom, I made my way back to the Emperor’s chambers.

The sheer number of escorts accompanying me made navigating the palace corridors a surprisingly cumbersome and uncomfortable affair.

Beyond the physical inconvenience, the words the Emperor had spoken yesterday lingered in my mind, a persistent echo that continued to bother me, stirring a vague unease.

In the midst of this minor discomfort and lingering thought, the only true solace, the comforting presence that settled my mind, was Nero, the loyal feline companion Cat had so thoughtfully sent to me.

“At least I won’t be bored with you around,” I murmured, my fingers gently stroking his soft fur.

Lost in thought, I found a measure of peace in his presence.

When I offered him food midway through my musings, Nero, pleased by the gesture, responded with an eruption of joyful antics, showing off all sorts of charming tricks.

His playful display brought a genuine, spontaneous laugh bubbling up from deep within me.

“You cute thing,” I cooed, a warmth spreading through my chest.

“I feel like keeping you forever instead of sending you back to Cat. But you must want to see your owner soon, right?”

In response, Nero tilted his head, his intelligent eyes fixed on me, as if pondering my words.

It was moments like these, when he seemed to deliberately feign ignorance of human speech, that truly revealed his cleverness and astute nature.

He was a truly intelligent creature.

Night descended quickly, drawing its cloak over the palace. 

Despite the early hour, I was profoundly tired, a weariness that settled deep into my bones, a direct consequence of the restless night I’d endured yesterday. 

Yet, the information I had gleaned from Cat felt too important to postpone. 

I believed it would be beneficial to relay it to the Emperor as soon as possible. 

Therefore, despite the heavy pull of sleep, I forced my eyes wide open and sat upright in a chair, determined to remain alert. 

‘This way,’ I reasoned silently to myself, ‘I’ll be acknowledged for being at least a little useful. And he’ll certainly cooperate with me to catch the true culprit if I prove my worth.’ 

The thought spurred me on, a faint hope that my efforts would not be in vain. 

However, the exhaustion was relentless. 

As I sat motionless in the chair, patiently waiting for the Emperor’s return, sleep, an insidious and unwelcome intruder, slowly began to claim me. 

Unbeknownst to myself, my head began to nod, a slow, rhythmic descent into slumber. 

I was jolted awake by an unfamiliar presence, a subtle shift in the air, a sense of someone nearby. 

My eyes snapped open, and there he was, standing directly in front of me, his gaze fixed downwards, observing me.

“Why are you sitting so uncomfortably?”

His voice, deep and resonant, cut through the lingering haze of sleep. I was startled, a jolt of surprise coursing through me, and stammered, flustered, “…Ah, that is, I was waiting for Your Majesty.”

At that single phrase, a subtle ripple, a fleeting change, crossed his jewel-like eyes.

They seemed to shimmer, their depths momentarily disturbed, as if the precious stones themselves had been submerged deep beneath the surface of a placid sleep, and now, they were stirred.

A flicker of something unreadable passed through them.

“You were waiting for me?” he asked, his voice now laced with a hint of curiosity.

“Why?”

I responded immediately, the reason clear in my mind.

“Because I have something to say.”

He paused for a moment, and then, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. 

“As do I, as it happens.” 

My eyes widened slightly in surprise. 

“Your Majesty too?” 

He frowned, a slight furrow appearing between his brows, a subtle expression of internal conflict. 

Then, he moved his lips, parting them as if to speak, but no words came. 

He remained silent for a long, drawn-out moment, his lips parting and closing several times. 

His face clearly showed contemplation, a struggle with unspoken thoughts. 

“Yesterday’s matter…” he began, his voice hesitant, almost reluctant. 

What was he trying to say? 

What profound admission was he delaying so meticulously? 

The suspense was agonizing, the tension in the air so thick I felt my breath stiffen, my muscles tensing in anticipation of his next words.

“I spoke too harshly.” 

The words, when they finally came, were utterly unexpected.

They fell from his lips, completely antithetical to anything I had anticipated hearing from him.

The Emperor, of all people, the sovereign ruler, apologizing to me first?

It was an unprecedented act, a gesture I never would have imagined. 

“Why are you saying that all of a sudden?” 

I managed to ask, my voice tinged with genuine astonishment. 

His response was immediate, a simple yet profound explanation. 

“Because there was no need to say it like that.” 

In that moment, I was so utterly surprised, so taken aback, that I found myself incapable of any action beyond simply blinking my eyes in disbelief. 

My mind struggled to process the unexpected sincerity. 

The Emperor then let out a deep sigh, a long, weary exhalation that seemed to carry a burden of unspoken thoughts, and continued. 

“I dislike the temple.” 

His voice held a quiet, almost resigned tone. 

“…It seemed so,” I replied, the observation having been evident in his previous demeanor. 

“May I ask why?” 

A fleeting shadow, a deep, pervasive sadness, seemed to momentarily darken his face, passing across his features like a swift, unbidden cloud. 

I had never imagined the Emperor, with his formidable presence and unwavering authority, capable of displaying such a visibly pained and vulnerable expression. 

After a long moment of hesitation, a weighty and somber story began to flow from his lips. 

“That is…”

***

My mother was a benevolent and wise woman, a figure of profound grace and intellect who truly embodied the ideals of an enlightened ruler.

Her reign was characterized by a delicate balance, as she consistently fostered peaceful and mutually beneficial understandings with the various noble houses, ensuring harmony within the kingdom.

Crucially, however, her compassion extended far beyond the aristocratic circles; she never turned a blind eye to the harsh realities faced by the common people, those who suffered and toiled under difficult circumstances.

She possessed an innate ability to connect with the plight of her subjects, understanding their struggles and working tirelessly to alleviate their burdens.

Balance and peace – these were not mere abstract concepts to her, but the guiding principles, the highest values, that shaped every decision she made.

She ruled with an unwavering commitment to fairness, never seeking to exploit or unfairly benefit one faction over another.

Instead, she governed with an impartial hand, reigning with equity and justice over all her people.

In every conceivable way, she was, truly, a perfect Empress, a paragon of leadership and virtue.

As her child, I was filled with an immense and profound pride for such a mother.

Her wisdom, her compassion, and her unwavering dedication to her people were a constant source of inspiration and admiration for me.

***

“Mother, the sunlight seems warmer than usual today. That’s probably why even the birds in the glass conservatory are chirping so joyfully.” 

My voice was soft, appreciative of the serene moment. 

My mother, with her characteristic gentle wisdom, responded, her eyes sparkling with quiet amusement. 

“These birds also enjoy this time they spend with you, Allen.” 

Her words carried a deeper meaning, suggesting that the very presence of companionship enhanced the beauty of the day. 

Unlike the previous emperor, whose reign had been consumed by a relentless and often brutal obsession with war and conquest, my mother’s approach to leadership was fundamentally different. 

She pursued a path of stable and consistent governance, prioritizing the well-being and prosperity of her existing domains. 

Rather than embarking on costly and destructive campaigns to acquire more land, sacrifices that invariably led to immense suffering and loss of life, she focused her formidable intellect and energy on enriching what she already possessed. 

Her philosophy was clear: making the existing prosperous was far more important than endlessly expanding borders.

“I hope that someday, a day will come when all the people of this land can live without worry,” she mused, her gaze distant, as if envisioning a future yet to arrive.

Her voice was imbued with a deep, heartfelt longing.

“An ideal nation where no one starves and every child can dream.”

It was a vision of a utopian society, a stark contrast to the harsh realities many faced.

A question, born from my understanding of the established order, immediately surfaced.

“But wouldn’t that break down the hierarchy between nobles and commoners?”

I inquired, genuinely puzzled by the implications of such widespread equality.

My mother’s lips curved into a soft, knowing smile as she heard my question.

She took a slow, deliberate sip of her chamomile tea, savoring the warmth and delicate flavor.

Then, her gaze settled on me, her eyes filled with an intelligent light as she posed her own question.

“Allen, do you think there’s an absolute line that nobles, royalty, and commoners cannot cross?”

My mother’s question struck me as profoundly odd, almost unsettling.

From my earliest memories, the structure of our world had been absolute, immutable.

Every single person within the vast confines of the imperial palace, from the youngest child barely able to walk to the oldest, most wizened crone, instinctively bowed their heads in deference to my mother and me. 

It was an unspoken, universal rule. 

Even the most capable, the most immensely wealthy, or the most powerfully influential noble, possessing vast fortunes and wielding significant authority, found their value diminished, their power rendered subordinate, beneath the supreme authority of the imperial family. 

It was, quite simply, an omnipotent law, a fundamental principle of the world that had been established and ingrained since time immemorial, an unyielding truth that governed all existence. 

“Of course not, isn’t it?” 

I responded, my voice reflecting my absolute conviction, utterly certain of what I considered to be an undeniable truth.

“I don’t think so, dear,” my mother countered gently, her voice soft but firm, challenging my long-held assumption. 

Her words held a quiet conviction that made me pause.

“The owners of this land are the people. It is because of them that a nation can stand, and upon that, nobles and royalty can also exist.”

Her explanation was delivered with such profound simplicity, yet it held a weight that unsettled my established understanding. 

My expression must have conveyed my incomprehension, for my mother reached out, her fingers gently ruffling my hair, a gesture of affection and understanding. 

A strange sensation, a delicate tickle, spread across my chest, a curious stirring of something unfamiliar. 

“It’s okay if you don’t understand now,” she said, her voice reassuring. 

“But remember this: if a time of peace ever comes, we must relinquish the crown on our heads.” 

Her words were startling, the implication immense. 

“Do you mean… you would abandon the throne?” 

I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, disbelief coloring my tone. 

“That’s not it, Allen,” she corrected, her gaze unwavering. 

“If there’s nothing left to fear, the people naturally won’t need us. At that time, we must return all the rights that should have been theirs.” 

As my mother spoke these profound words, her gaze seemed to extend far beyond the confines of our physical space, reaching towards a distant horizon that I could not discern. 

I found myself wondering, deeply curious, where that unseen place might be. 

“May I ask what you are thinking about right now?” 

I inquired, my voice tentative. 

“Actually, I have one unfulfilled dream,” she confessed, a faint wistfulness in her tone. 

An unfulfilled dream? 

For my mother, who seemingly possessed everything, it was an unbelievable notion. 

My curiosity, now fully awakened, proved irresistible, and I immediately pressed her for more. 

“What is it?” 

I asked, eager to learn.

“You also know, Allen,” she began, her voice taking on a more serious, almost somber tone, “that beyond this land called the land of peace, there are always those who suffer from famine and conflict because even a single blade of grass struggles to grow there.” 

The reference immediately brought to mind lessons from my history classes.

I had learned of the first emperor who had founded Hamilon, a figure driven by an insatiable ambition to conquer all the nations in this vicinity, the very lands now known as the land of peace. 

His relentless will, passed down through generations, had fueled a long and arduous struggle.

It was only in the previous generation that the last bastion of resistance, Teser, the formidable tiger beast-kin nation, which had stubbornly held out until the very end, was finally subdued.

However, Teser itself was a nation of considerable strength and vastness, easily comparable in power and size to Hamilton.

Thus, instead of brutally seizing everything it possessed and rendering it completely powerless, the strategic decision was made to subjugate it, to place it under Hamilton’s dominion rather than outright annihilating it.

‘Around that time,’ I mused to myself, recalling the historical context, ‘His Majesty the former Emperor was also aging, his physical strength waning, and our reach struggled to govern the vast, expansive lands beyond the north, the territories that Teser had previously ruled. Extending our authority so far was a logistical challenge.’

However, the narrative of the barren and desolate desert regions was markedly different.

Here, the struggle for survival was far more acute.

The land was so inhospitable that not a single blade of grass grew easily, leading to perennial food scarcity and widespread hunger.

Furthermore, the ceaseless, whipping sandstorms made it perilously easy to contract lung diseases, a constant threat to life.

Because of its harsh conditions and lack of obvious resources, no one coveted it; consequently, it existed as a lawless land, devoid of any established legal framework or order.

“You’re talking about the desert,” I stated, recognizing the landscape she was describing.

“Yes,” she confirmed, her gaze thoughtful. 

“Someday, when Hamilton is completely stable…

I want to strive for the people there.

Of course, it won’t be possible in my lifetime.”

Her aspirations were boundless, reaching beyond immediate concerns.

I found myself thinking that I wouldn’t even be interested in such a thankless task, one that offered no clear gain or advantage.

But my mother’s heart, it seemed, was endlessly vast, encompassing even the most remote and challenging endeavors.

‘That’s why she’s an emperor praised by everyone, I suppose,’ I concluded, the thought solidifying my admiration for her.

Such a truly remarkable woman, my mother, yet even she had moments when maintaining her composure became an arduous task.

These were invariably moments linked to my father, moments that shattered her usual serenity.

On this particular day, a peaceful tea time, the tranquility was abruptly interrupted by an unwelcome intruder.

“Your Majesty, the King Consort again…” the attendant’s voice, though respectful, carried an undeniable tremor of urgency.