Episode 19
The snowfall began to grow fiercer.
Céline used a bit more of her magic to wrap both herself, Leonhardt, and even the horse in warmth. Leonhardt didn’t say a word.
If the horse tired from the cold before they reached the castle by nightfall, things would become much worse.
But the first snow of the North had no mercy for their situation—it fell heavily and without end. Leonhardt had no choice but to change direction.
“There’s a hunters’ cabin nearby. It’s a poor shelter, but we’ve no choice.”
“That’s fine by me.”
Céline answered quickly.
She’d been worried he might insist on pressing forward. It was going to be a brutal night; they needed walls, at least, instead of being buried under the relentless snow on horseback.
Leonhardt steered the horse carefully through the white storm until he finally said,
“There it is.”
Through the sheets of falling snow, Céline could make out the outline of a small log hut.
“You’ve been here before?”
“A long time ago.”
Leonhardt gave the short reply as he led the horse into a stable beside the hut. Céline tugged open the wooden door.
Of course, no warmth greeted her. She looked around the place—scattered weapons, furs and old blankets thrown haphazardly about, a small stove with half-burned logs inside.
Gathering what remained of her magic, she lit the fire. Thankfully, the small space didn’t need much heat.
“Whew…”
As the fire crackled to life, her tension eased. Leonhardt came to stand beside her.
“How’s the stable?”
“It’ll hold for one night.”
His voice was curt. Céline understood the weight in it.
“It’s okay. It’s just one night.”
Leonhardt didn’t answer. Instead, he rose and began tidying the cabin. When Céline tried to help, he stopped her.
“These weapons are dangerous. Don’t touch anything. Just stay warm.”
She obeyed. The overuse of her magic left her drowsy and heavy. A fatigue deeper than anything she’d ever felt washed over her. Her eyelids drooped shut.
Leonhardt gathered all the weapons in one place, spread the furs across the floor, and laid an old blanket on top—an improvised bed.
Then he gently shook Céline, who had dozed off by the fire.
“…Leonhardt?”
“Sleep.”
He carefully guided the half-asleep Céline onto the bedding.
“What about you?”
“You know I don’t sleep.”
“Still…”
Her complaint faded as sleep claimed her.
Leonhardt watched her peaceful face and felt a small sense of relief. She was so exhausted that she likely wouldn’t wake even if he had another episode tonight.
He sat by the door. If sleep came to him by force, he wanted his final image to be of Céline’s calm expression—something to remind him that what followed was only a dream.
This is a dream. A dream. A dream.
He told himself that when he saw himself in the wasteland again, raising Rashir high.
But he couldn’t control the twisting of his stomach or his racing heart.
Not far away, Céline—ashen and trembling—was watching his every move.
Leonhardt’s nails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists. He wanted to close his eyes, but in this dream, he couldn’t.
He watched the battle unfold, full of self-loathing. He should have been faster, stronger.
Finally, he saw himself drive Rashir through Al’s chest. His whole body went rigid.
He had fallen for a monster’s trick, left an opening.
And then Céline’s emotions poured into him—terror, worry, fierce determination. None of them his own, yet all of them overwhelming him.
He staggered as he saw Céline hurl herself at the monster leader, pouring her magic into it. The pain of several horns piercing his body rippled through him.
Agony and guilt consumed him—not Céline’s, but his.
“Leonhardt?”
Céline woke to the sound of his ragged breathing. He was writhing against the doorframe, drenched in cold sweat.
“Leonhardt!”
At her voice, he snapped awake instantly, like iron drawn to a magnet. His blue eyes flicked to her—then away, guilty and shaken.
Fear and guilt. That’s what Céline saw on his face.
“Are you okay?”
She regretted asking as soon as she did. Of course he wasn’t.
Leonhardt didn’t answer. Céline stared at the floor, then looked up again.
“I’m okay.”
Leonhardt’s eyes widened at her sudden statement.
“It’s natural to hurt when you feel pain. You’re human. But I don’t want you to suffer because of me.”
When she reached for his hand, he flinched slightly.
“You feel that, right? It’s just a dream.”
“Even so… it really happened.”
Céline gripped his hand tighter.
“But I’m alive now. It’s over.”
“Just because it’s past doesn’t mean your pain never existed.”
Leonhardt looked into her eyes as she held his hands. She had no words for that. He was right. Every death she’d experienced still lived on in her memory.
Silence hung between them. Neither looked away.
At last, Céline spoke, drawing courage from deep inside.
“I just… want you to hurt less. Whether my pain is past or present, you don’t need to carry it too.”
Leonhardt opened his mouth to protest, but Céline didn’t let him.
“So tonight, I’ll hold your hand. So you’ll know—even in your sleep—that I’m here.”
He shook his head.
“Then you won’t sleep.”
“If I’m lying next to you, maybe I will.”
His face flushed crimson with surprise, and Céline realized how it sounded.
“Just holding hands!”
“No.”
Leonhardt waved her off.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking—”
But before he could finish, his eyes shut and his head drooped. Céline immediately shook him.
“Leonhardt!”
When his eyes opened again, he looked dazed but calm.
“Now you see why it’s better if we lie down together? You can’t keep collapsing like this.”
He hesitated… then gave in.
“I’ll be troubling you.”
“I’ll sleep better this way too.”
Leonhardt lay down at the very edge of the bedding—almost on the cold floor. When Céline frowned, he reassured her:
“I’ve slept in worse places.”
“So have I.”
Céline thought of the grim beds she’d known before—stained mattresses, insect-ridden blankets, pillows marked with someone else’s blood. Compared to that, this was nothing.
And besides, Leonhardt was beside her.
Sleep claimed her quickly. The night was long, but she was too tired to stay awake from nerves or proximity.
That night, Céline slept soundly. Whenever Leonhardt stirred or groaned, her gentle squeeze on his hand calmed him again.
The Next Morning
Céline woke to sunlight pouring through the curtainless window. Leonhardt’s broad back was turned to her—he was focused on something.
“What are you doing?”
“Food.”
She saw the bloodied dagger and the almost-cleaned carcass in his hands—a large rabbit, judging from the skin on the floor.
“When did you catch it?”
“It was outside when I went out this morning.”
He skewered the meat on a rapier. As he frowned slightly, the blade glowed faintly blue and the meat began to cook.
“…That’s Rashir, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s useful in times like this.”
Céline had to stifle a laugh.
That mighty sword, slayer of monsters and dark mages—used now as a cooking skewer!
In a few minutes, the rabbit was roasted. Leonhardt split it in half and handed one piece to her.
“It may not taste good, but eat. You’ll need strength for the snow ahead.”
Céline bit into the golden-brown meat cautiously.
“It’s delicious!”
She devoured it in no time, and when she looked up, Leonhardt was staring at her blankly. His own piece was only half-eaten, chewed reluctantly.
“You must’ve been hungry.”
“That too. But it really is good! If you think it’s bad, you’re just picky.”
Leonhardt chuckled softly and pulled a small tin from his pocket. Céline’s eyes lit up even before he opened it—she knew what was inside.
“This will taste better than the last thing.”
He smiled faintly as he offered it.
Soon, they were both chewing on candy—two for Céline, one for Leonhardt—as they stepped out of the cabin.
The world outside glowed white.
Sunlight scattered across the snow, dazzling Céline’s eyes until everything seemed made of light.
Leonhardt brought the horse around.
“Sorry, but can you warm the horse again? Otherwise its legs will freeze solid.”
It wasn’t a difficult request. Céline focused, trying to summon her magic—
“…?”
Nothing.
Panic flickered through her. She tried again, but not even a faint current of power answered her.
“Something wrong?”
“M-my magic…”
“Seems you’ve run dry.”
He spoke matter-of-factly, but seeing her alarm, he quickly added,
“It’ll return with time. Don’t worry. But for now…”
Rashir, now back in its greatsword form, glowed blue again. Leonhardt pointed it toward the snow piled up to his knees.
In an instant, the snow melted, leaving a wide, clear path through the white expanse.
“It won’t protect the horse like your magic can. My power only knows how to destroy.”
There was a trace of bitterness in his tone.
Silently, Céline reached for his hand—just like last night.
