Light My Path
"That persistence keeping you alive—no one can match it. So isn't your fate worth risking everything for?"
"Princess, there is something I must ask of you."
Cesare's voice was steady, obedient even.
"What is it?"
Silence stretched between them. His gaze dropped to her silver hair, which caught the firelight and seemed to glow crimson—like spilled blood in the darkness.
"Your dreams. Your ambitions. The promises you've made to the world."
In the pitch-black night, this small circle of firelight felt like the only sanctuary left in existence, fragile boundaries trembling against the encroaching void.
What nonsense is he talking about?
"I don't have any of those things."
"You will find them soon."
*"Your fate will be saved by the Venus of Valdina..."*
There was no certainty in it—only instinct mingled with cold reason, whispering to him.
Place your remaining hope in this girl. Even if it leads nowhere, you won't regret it.
Silence descended again. But this time, it wasn't uncomfortable.
"Still... it's not so bad."
Medea rested her head on her knees, letting the sound of rushing water nearby wash over her.
The campfire's warmth seeped into her skin. The presence of the skilled mercenary beside her meant she didn't need to worry about prowling beasts in the night.
Is this what it feels like to be protected? To be safe, for once?
She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this way. It had been so long since she'd been the one protected, rather than the protector.
What do people call this moment—when you can finally let your guard down?
Medea's voice came out as a faint murmur, barely audible.
"Acares... I wish you had been there back then."
Cesare turned his head sharply. The Princess's eyes were half-closed, her expression distant.
Her words were so quiet he had to strain to hear them.
"If you had been... it would have been easier. I wouldn't have spent every night terrified that Jared would come for me."
Even if all he'd done was sit beside her like this—chopping wood, tending a fire.
"It would have been a little less lonely."
A single tear slipped from beneath her closed lashes, glinting in the firelight.
Cesare's hand, which had been stirring the embers, stilled.
Jared? But this is the first time she and I have ever met...
A cool breeze swept through the gold mine, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and secrets.
The Princess said nothing more. She had drifted into sleep.
Darkness settled over them like a thick shroud, concealing her layered truths beneath its weight.
Without a word, Cesare draped his travel cloak over her shoulders.
The next morning, Medea and Cesare left the forest behind.
When the messenger arrived, the man who emerged from the Facade's carriage introduced himself as a mage from the Magic Tower.
"Your Highness, renowned Princess of Valdina."
The young man was lanky and brown-haired, with an exhausted, nervous air about him. He looked like a scholar crammed into formal state robes that didn't quite fit.
"You may call me Terence."
The wizard's introduction was clipped, efficient.
Medea could feel his eyes behind the thin-rimmed glasses studying her intently.
"I've been briefed on the situation by Acares. May I assist Your Highness in returning safely, as an envoy of the Tower Lord?"
"Tower Lord?"
Medea raised an eyebrow. The man before her looked far too young to be a tower's supreme leader.
Though I've heard that those who reach beyond the mortal realm cease to age...
"Ah, forgive me—he is my master. As his proxy, I travel between continents and manage transport to the Magic Tower."
Terence displayed the Tower's official seal.
Medea glanced at Cesare, who was leaning against the carriage with his eyes closed, appearing utterly unconcerned.
A disciple of the Magic Tower...
She was quietly impressed by how far the connections of the Facade's leader extended.
So that's why, in my past life, Jason mourned so bitterly when the Facade vanished without a trace.
"Then what does the Magic Tower want in return?"
Medea's tone was sharp and direct.
Through her past life's brutal expeditions, she had learned that mages valued equivalent exchange more than life itself.
Terence paused, visibly surprised. The Princess's pragmatism was refreshingly different from the Katzen royals, who only ever made demands on the Tower without offering anything in return.
"There is... something we seek."
Medea's green eyes shifted slightly, inviting him to continue.
Terence suppressed a smile.
That poise—so calm yet regal. Truly befitting the one who cornered both the Katzen delegation and the Regent himself.
"Your Highness, have you ever heard of the *Dawn's Droplet*?"
At that moment, Cesare's eyes snapped open.
Does he really think now is the time to be measuring risks and bargaining?
Cesare's sharp gaze burned into Terence like a warning. Terence met it with silent defiance.
"The Dawn's Droplet? Is that the name of some magic stone?"
Medea asked as though hearing the term for the first time.
Terence, unable to read any flicker of recognition in those calm green eyes, shook his head slightly and pressed on.
"It is a legendary cure said to wash away all primordial corruption. Your Highness must have heard that the First Prince of Katzen lives under a death sentence—a limited lifespan."
"Terence."
Cesare's voice was low, edged with steel—a clear warning to stop.
But Terence did not stop.
"The Magic Tower believes the Dawn's Droplet is the solution to his affliction."
"Get out."
A long, powerful leg kicked the carriage door open. Cesare physically shoved Terence out onto the dirt road.
So what the Facade has been searching for... is the Dawn's Droplet.
Medea read the truth in their reactions immediately.
A Magic Tower searching for a cure for the First Prince...
And Acares is traveling with a disciple of that Tower right now.
The words he'd spoken to her last night suddenly echoed in her mind.
*"Your dreams. Your ambitions. The promises you've made to the world."*
Medea's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"Is the Facade trying to involve itself in the imperial succession struggle?"
Cesare, who had been glaring daggers at Terence, froze.
"What?"
"If it's the First Prince you're backing, it's not a bad choice."
Damn you, Terence. You've been spending too much time with Gallo. You've gotten sloppy.
Cesare swallowed the curses he wanted to hurl at his so-called friend and asked carefully:
"Princess, why do you think so?"
"The Emperor of Katzen despises the incompetent and fears the competent. The only one never shaken by his whims was the First Prince."
Cesare did not notice that Medea spoke of the Emperor in the past tense.
"Princess, have you ever met the First Prince?"
The air between them sharpened like a drawn blade.
"No. But I know him."
"How?"
"Isn't it harder to find someone on the continent who *doesn't* know him?"
Medea shrugged lightly.
"Even so, he's just a man living on borrowed time—waiting to die. What's so remarkable about that?"
Medea watched his reaction closely.
Has the Facade not yet committed to him?
It made sense. An organization powerful enough to shake the world—naturally, every royal contender would covet their support.
"If he were truly so fragile, he would have died long ago. The sheer *persistence* keeping him alive—no one can match it. In that case, isn't his fate worth risking everything for?"
Jason included.
"If it were me, I would choose the First Prince's hand. Far better than someone like Grand Duke Castullo."
For a moment, the mercenary was utterly speechless.
"Acares?"
"Your comparison is Castullo? Is that a compliment or mockery? If the First Prince heard that, he'd cough up blood."
The mercenary's tone was dry, tinged with dark humor. He folded his arms across his chest, leaned back against the carriage, and closed his eyes.
But inside, emotions churned—silent, overwhelming.
Ever since the curse of the primordial first struck him, Cesare had moved forward without rest.
Through despair. Through the sorrow of everyone around him who watched him wither.
It had never been easy to confront something born from the ancient beginning itself.
With every seizure, with every inch the curse devoured, Cesare repeated the same mantra—without a shred of certainty:
*I will survive. I will never give up.*
So relentlessly. So obsessively. Almost like brainwashing himself.
And now—
The Princess sitting before him had spoken words he never expected to hear:
That his desperate struggle had not been in vain.
Recognition. Understanding. From someone he never thought would offer it.
Cesare, who prided himself on unshakable composure, found himself utterly unable to regain his footing.
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