Chapter 20
So high.
My legs were trembling.
Even though I had thrown myself fearlessly into Khan’s arms, once I was actually up in the tree, it wasn’t easy to keep my balance.
The wind was strong and cold up here. The tree swayed helplessly beneath us.
It wouldn’t snap easily like a flower, of course—but since it had just grown, I couldn’t help worrying.
“Khan, I’m scared.”
“Wrap your arms around my neck.”
“Okay.”
“Hold tight.”
Too frightened to think, I just clung to the boy in front of me.
He wrapped an arm around my waist, holding me even tighter, then began to descend the tree.
“Because you’re afraid of animals.”
His voice was so faint I might have missed it if I hadn’t been listening closely.
But I was too terrified to think about what he meant.
I might fall…
My heart pounded violently.
If I fall from here, it’s going to hurt, isn’t it?
All I could do was trust Khan.
Looking down only made the fear worse, so I squeezed my eyes shut and, just as he told me to, wrapped my arms tightly around his neck.
Unlike me, the boy was calm. From within his embrace came a steady heartbeat, a faint clean scent, and the warmth of his body shielding me from the wind as he carefully climbed down.
But maybe I wasn’t the only one tense.
I could feel a trickle of cold sweat slide down the back of his neck, and his breathing had grown a little rough.
And then—
“……”
My feet touched solid ground.
Dazed, I opened my eyes. Khan stood there, having let go of me.
Amazing.
It must have been difficult enough to climb down alone, and yet he’d brought me safely too.
Khan’s hair was tousled. On the ground lay a few burned scraps of paper—later I would learn they were the remnants of a spent magic scroll.
He looked at me, my dazed face reflected in his dark eyes.
“You don’t seem hurt.”
“Khan.”
“Aside from a few leaves in your hair.”
He reached up and plucked the leaves from my head.
I whispered,
“I missed you.”
“We met for the first time yesterday.”
“I never got to thank you…”
Khan just gave a faint, quiet smile.
He brushed another leaf from the hem of my nightgown and looked back at me.
“Did I do something worth thanking for?”
“…?! Of course you did! You held my hand and ran away with me so I wouldn’t see the animals. You helped me meet my mom, told me about the Divine Beast, and then…”
I trailed off.
“You told me I wouldn’t be abandoned.”
“I only said what you were meant to hear.”
“Thank you. I’ve been waiting to say that.”
For a moment, Khan looked startled by my earnest gaze.
Maybe it was the chill of the night air, but his cheeks had turned a faint rosy hue. He averted his eyes briefly, then quietly took off his coat and draped it over my shoulders.
It was such a natural gesture.
Then he took my hand. His hand felt warm—maybe because the night was colder than I thought.
“Let’s go.”
Was this going to be another adventure…?
My heart thumped with anticipation.
When I fell asleep, no one ever came into my room, so as long as I was careful, we wouldn’t be caught.
How strange.
I didn’t know how, but when I followed the path Khan took, no adults ever noticed us.
It was late at night, and few people guarded the ducal mansion.
“Huh? This is…”
“You have to open the door.”
We had arrived at the same building as yesterday—The Blessing of the Divine Beast.
I understood I had to open the door, but… why here?
Still, I grasped the handle. The stone lion statue still felt like it was watching me.
I turned the knob and pushed the door open—then froze.
What—?
Yesterday, the room had only a portrait of Beasirta and Father.
But now, the portrait was gone.
No, not just gone—the entire room was different, from the walls to the light fixtures.
Today, in the center stood an enormous piano. Beside it, a large table covered with cute stuffed animals.
“Mom and Dad disappeared.”
“They didn’t disappear.”
“Then what?”
“This building isn’t called ‘The Blessing of the Divine Beast’ for nothing.”
Khan pushed the door wide open and stepped inside first. I followed him, still dazed.
Clack.
The door closed behind us.
It felt like stepping into another world—but not a frightening one. It was dreamlike, light and floaty, in a good way.
The room was warm and cozy, serene and softly glowing.
Pink-tinted candles scattered around the room filled it with a peaceful atmosphere.
“When war breaks out, if the owner escapes here, ‘The Blessing of the Divine Beast’ transforms into a perfect refuge.”
“……”
“Except for special cases like the Child of Prophecy, no one but the Duke and his heir can open this door. It’s safe, and it provides every weapon and supply needed for survival.”
The words he used were difficult.
“If you want to be alone, ‘The Blessing of the Divine Beast’ fills the room with whatever the caster desires.”
“…So the things inside change depending on the situation?”
“You understand quickly.”
I had only guessed, but apparently, I was right.
It was amazing—really amazing.
Yesterday, I wanted to meet Beasirta.
So there was a portrait.
Now, there’s a piano and toys.
I did like dolls.
Did I come here because I wished for it?
I walked to the table and hugged the teddy bear I liked best.
It was soft and fluffy, and I felt instantly happy.
The more I thought about it, the more mysterious it seemed.
“You can hear the language of spirits?”
“My goodness, the Child of Prophecy actually lives here…”
Was this how the adults had felt when they saw me?
Or maybe a little different. Either way, it was all so unbelievable.
“‘The Blessing of the Divine Beast’ really is a blessing.”
I said in awe.
A room that prepared different things depending on one’s heart—how incredible.
Suddenly, I grew curious about the Divine Beast itself.
What kind of being is it?
I didn’t know, but it must be something truly great.
Father said the Child of Prophecy stands even above the Divine Beast.
He once drew a pyramid of ranks, writing the word Adel at the very top—higher than the emperor, higher than even the Divine Beast.
And that was me.
“The piano must have followed you… and the dolls, me.”
Khan had walked up to the piano, his fingers gliding lightly across the keys.
His shadow stretched long in the candlelight. Those slender fingers, his poised and graceful manner—it all felt so noble.
I stared at him. His skin was pale and translucent, his cheeks faintly rosy and round. He looked so beautiful it wouldn’t be strange if someone called him a fairy.
Ding.
He pressed a black key with his index finger. A clear, pure sound tickled my ears. Testing the keys, he moved his hands across the piano.
Do re fa sol.
He had no sheet music, yet the sounds drew me in instantly.
I kept watching him. The teddy bear in my arms smelled fresh and clean—like new bedding washed and dried in the sun.
Then, from the air, the Spirit of Iron appeared, circling Khan curiously.
“Just one song…”
He murmured, sitting down on the piano bench.
Is he going to play?
I unconsciously held my breath.
The next moment, his hands danced swiftly across the keys.
The music that unfolded was beautiful, pure, and tender.
Careful and gentle, small in scale yet full of warmth—not grand or mad, but bright and full of hope.
Some say only darkness can be powerful or moving, but as I listened to Khan’s playing, I knew that wasn’t true.
It was pure light—and yet incredibly strong.
Brilliant, beautiful, mysterious, and somehow ordinary at the same time.
Khan was singing of happiness through the piano. There were no lyrics, but the world his melody painted overflowed with peace and laughter.
Green trees, vast meadows, the gentle burble of streams, the rhythmic waves of the sea, cool nights, and heartfelt talks shared with loved ones.
Those kinds of things.
“Wow…”
It was enchanting.
I felt I understood Khan more deeply through his playing than through a hundred conversations.
How could something so gentle and simple be so captivating?
He was playing ordinary, yet looked more special than anyone. Why? Maybe because it was an age of war, when people died by the dozens every day.
The streets had long lost their smiles; even the orphans had given up on hope.
People didn’t just struggle to live—they suffered just to breathe.
Children broke and starved, morals vanished, wounds festered.
And yet Khan still held on to something normal. That, in itself, was extraordinary.
The things everyone once had—but had worn away and lost.
“……”
“You’re… really, really amazing.”
I blurted out, unable to contain my excitement.
At some point, he’d fallen silent again, though I hadn’t noticed.
“It’s been a long time since I played.”
“Why? You’re so good!”
“They say piano doesn’t help in war.”
“…What?”
He said it softly.
How could that be?
If people heard him play, they’d feel warm inside.
Did adults hate that? Did they just tell him to study or wield a sword instead?
His answer was so sad and confusing that I frowned.
“If you like it, you should just do it.”
“……”
He didn’t reply—just tapped lightly at the keys.
It wasn’t quite music, just a simple, playful melody. Yet even in that, I could feel how much he loved the piano.
It sparkled.
The notes were so pretty it felt like the entire room had turned into the universe.
Then Khan asked quietly,
“…Want to hear more?”
“Yeah.”
I answered in the smallest voice.
“I want to hear it. Play more.”
I didn’t want my voice to drown out the sound of his piano.
“That’s not why I brought you here, but…”
He sounded shy—but a little happy too, I thought, because he smiled faintly and began to play again.
The air around us felt clean and light, easy to breathe.
“Um… what’s the song called?”
“The Wheel of Fate, Fourth Movement.”
His long fingers caressed the piano.
The sound shimmered and scattered like fragments of light.
