SOTBW - 213

When rumors began to spread that Najane was afflicted with a terminal illness, Amelia didn’t seem particularly surprised. With an air of calmness, as if she had anticipated this turn of events, she patiently waited for her friend to reach out.

Amelia had sensed something was amiss when Najane, while fighting in the field, coughed up blood. Even though Boris, who was said to possess divine healing abilities, frequently visited the residence, Najane hadn’t participated in training or even stepped outside. It was clear her condition was serious.

Amelia trusted that Najane would eventually call her to explain the situation and never doubted it, focusing instead on her own training.

At this moment, their respective responsibilities were clear. Despite being one of the busiest individuals in the Romsoa Knights, Belshua consistently oversaw Amelia’s training. Moreover, the female knights of the Recheo Knights willingly sparred with her without complaint.

The plan to train women as soldiers had long since fizzled out (not that any knightly order had seriously intended to implement it), and the women who had been forcibly selected for the program had, for various reasons, laid down their swords.

Amelia was the only one left. She was the sole woman who wasn’t a knight but still wielded a sword to fight against the Seriths.

The knights of the Recheo Order held Amelia in high regard. They could see how hard she was working.

Even in the dead of winter, Amelia trained so intensely that her clothes were drenched in sweat. As she swung her sword endlessly, she found herself lost in thought. How did people find certainty in their choices and move forward? Weren’t they afraid? Didn’t they fear making the wrong decision and living to regret it?

While knocking over wooden dummies erected by the Recheo knights and enduring cuts from broken wooden swords, Amelia continued to ponder.

The head chef of the Romsoa Knights’ dining hall cursed daily as he peeled onions and potatoes, lamenting his mundane life. Ironically, among all the people Amelia had met, no one loved cooking as much as he did.

The maids complained about their lives spent serving others, yet they smiled contentedly when bedsheets were perfectly laundered or pillowcases neatly mended. One maid, whose sewing skills earned her a coveted position in a dressmaking studio, quit after just a few months.

Before leaving Noctis Fortress, she visited the Romsoa Knights to bid farewell to her former colleagues. When asked why she left the studio, she replied, “It wasn’t the dream job I had imagined.”

Amelia couldn’t understand her. She vividly remembered how that maid had sighed wistfully, saying she’d do anything to work in a dressmaking studio. At the time, Amelia had thought the maid foolish for giving up such an opportunity… but now…

As Amelia swung her practice sword until sweat beaded on her forehead, she paused, exhaling a white breath and gazing up at the sky. Standing at a crossroads, she came to a realization as natural as the changing of seasons.

No matter what choice she made, regret was inevitable. Regret awaited both the paths taken and those left behind.

Amelia faced a decision: to act and regret, or to refrain and regret. If regret was an unavoidable companion to every choice, then perhaps the former was preferable.

She resolved to embrace all possibilities, make her choices, and face the regrets that followed. Accepting and taking responsibility for those regrets—perhaps that was what life was about. And when she fully embraced that reality, she might finally feel like she was truly living her own life.

Deciding didn’t mean Amelia’s life would drastically change. She was still fearful, anxious about tomorrow, and terrified of making foolish mistakes in unforeseen situations.

If an unbearable moment ever came, Amelia vowed to think of Najane—Najane, who despite her fears, had bravely swung her sword against the Seriths. Najane, whose radiant blade had illuminated the battlefield.

In that moment, the practice sword in Amelia’s hand glowed white. But no one saw it. Divine power wasn’t something ordinary eyes could perceive.

Amelia looked at her raw, blistered palms and touched her wind-chapped cheeks.

“Looks like becoming a nobleman’s mistress is out of the question.”

She chuckled softly to herself, feeling strangely liberated, as if a cool breeze had swept through her chest.

After finishing her training on a high note, Amelia returned to Romsoa amid the encouragement of the Recheo knights. A servant stood waiting near the main gate of the Romsoa Knights’ quarters. The servant seemed to be waiting specifically for her. Amelia instinctively knew this person had been sent by Najane.

True enough, as Amelia approached the gate, the servant spoke.

“Lady Schnicks has summoned you. Clean up and head to the residence.”

It was the news she had been waiting for.

Thrilled, Amelia hurried to the maids’ quarters. All the maids were out working, but as she entered the narrow hallway, barely wide enough for one person to pass through, a faint scent of cinnamon wafted toward her.

Sniffing the air curiously, Amelia glanced down the corridor. The deeper she went, the stronger the fragrance became, almost as if it were masking another scent.

But Amelia didn’t find the lingering aroma suspicious—it wasn’t uncommon for servants to sneak ingredients from the kitchen to cook small treats among themselves.

After showering, Amelia headed straight to the residence. She no longer blindly believed the rumors swirling around the fortress. Though the news of Najane’s supposed terminal illness had initially shocked her to the point of nearly collapsing, she had sworn not to believe anything until the person at the center of the rumors spoke for herself.

Amelia was well aware that Najane’s condition was far from ordinary. Every time she thought about how Najane had fought the Seriths to the point of coughing up blood, her chest tightened with an almost unbearable ache. Yet, Amelia clung to the hope that Najane would recover if she could just rest a little.

She couldn’t count how many times she had wanted to rush to Najane’s residence after the day Najane collapsed. She simply wanted to be by her side. But she didn’t want to make a fuss over someone who might be terminally ill, so she quietly waited for Najane to reach out.

Fortunately, Amelia was kept busy with her own tasks, and Najane, too, was preoccupied with sorting out her responsibilities in order. Amelia no longer felt as anxious or restless as before. She trusted that when the time came, Najane would tell her everything.

Even if everyone in the Romsoa Knights learned the truth from Najane before her, Amelia didn’t mind being the last to know. If it turned out that way, she believed there would be a reason for it.

She no longer let trivial matters disappoint her in Najane. Doing so felt childish and foolish. Everyone had their own circumstances, and life flowed according to those conditions—tasks were completed in their own time, and emotions arose and faded accordingly.

Amelia respected Najane’s judgment. Friendship, she realized, wasn’t about grand gestures. It was about exchanging greetings when paths crossed, wishing each other well as they sailed in different directions, and hoping to meet again while praying for the other’s safety and happiness. That was what friendship meant to her.

Upon arriving at the residence, Amelia deliberately maintained a bright smile. She even forced her lips upward more than usual, preparing herself to face Maximón with some semblance of composure should their paths cross inside.

As she entered the hallway, Amelia carefully opened the door. Najane was sitting in what had essentially become Maximón’s office, her back facing the entrance. 

Seeing Najane wrapped in a shawl by the fireplace, Amelia’s heart clenched. There was something poignant about her silhouette, basking in the firelight. Even without explanation, Amelia could sense Najane’s condition. It was impossible not to recognize it.

Having once cared for her ailing grandfather, Amelia knew what the back of someone nearing death looked like.

Closing the door silently, Amelia cleared her throat softly. Najane flinched at the sound and turned around to see Amelia standing by the door.

Upon spotting Amelia, Najane lit up with a radiant smile. Rising from the sofa without hesitation, she rushed over and embraced Amelia tightly. Fighting back tears, Amelia laughed awkwardly, clinging to Najane’s warmth.

They sat side by side on the sofa.

Amelia’s palms were now as rough and calloused as Najane’s, perhaps even more so than when she worked as a maid. The countless struggles etched into her hands spoke volumes.

Najane covered Amelia’s blistered palms with her own. She didn’t need to ask how Amelia had been; she already knew. The fact that Amelia’s life had continued as usual while Najane was incapacitated was a relief.

Feeling reassured, Najane held Amelia’s hands firmly. There was so much to say, but now that Amelia was right in front of her, Najane found herself unable to speak.

Amelia gazed at Najane and squeezed her hand, intending to wait patiently for Najane to begin. But the heavy silence between them only fueled her anxiety.

“Najane…”

Amelia’s voice trembled slightly despite her efforts to smile brightly.

“You’re okay, right?”

Amelia refrained from mentioning the rumors circulating around Noctis Fortress. They were all baseless and grim. Clutching Najane’s hand like a child, she shook it gently and asked again.

“You rested well after collapsing that time, right? You’re better now… aren’t you?”

Najane hesitated, lowering her gaze after seeing Amelia’s pressing concern. Though a faint smile lingered on her face, it carried no positive meaning. Amelia continued to force a smile, unwilling to let her expression falter in front of Najane.

“…It’s really bad, isn’t it?”

“Amelia.”

“Yes… yes.”

“I’ve been saving up the Serith eyes I collected instead of using them. I thought I’d give half of them to you.”

Najane handed Amelia a heavy pouch placed on the table. Inside were several glowing Serith eyes of various colors. Amelia accepted it in stunned confusion, unsure why Najane was giving her something so valuable.

After a moment of blankness, Amelia studied Najane’s gaunt face, noticing how much weight she had lost. The Serith eyes were quite heavy. Having fought in the field herself, Amelia understood—they represented Najane’s very life force.

Realizing Najane’s intent, Amelia’s expression darkened.

Najane patted Amelia’s hand gently, speaking calmly.

“If you take them to a reputable jeweler, you’ll get a good price. Use it to pay off your debts and send some to your family…”

“Najane.”

“Anyway, it’ll be helpful for you. If you don’t have debts weighing you down, you’ll have more freedom to…”

“Najane, look at me.”

Amelia tossed the pouch containing the Serith eyes onto the floor and turned Najane’s face toward her, forcing her to meet her gaze.

“…Are you dying?”

Najane didn’t answer, only offering a bitter smile.

Amelia’s eyes began to redden as tears welled up.

“…Are you really going to die?”

She wanted Najane to deny it, to say that it wasn’t true. But Najane simply smiled calmly, a smile that only someone who had accepted their fate could muster. Realizing this, Amelia’s face crumpled with emotion.

“…I’m sorry, Amelia.”

Unable to hold back any longer, Amelia burst into tears, burying her face in Najane’s shawl.