Master of illusions - Natsuki Subaru

The Day Before

The clock ticked in steady rhythm, each sound a hammer against Ludwig's patience. He sat at the table, staring at the hands crawling toward midnight. Subaru still hadn't returned.

The stew he'd left out was growing cold.

Ludwig had told himself not to worry—that the kid was probably fine, running his mouth somewhere, getting distracted the way he always did. But as the minutes dragged into hours, his chest felt heavier, his foot tapping restlessly against the wooden floor.

"Where the hell are ya, kid," he muttered, low and rough.

Subaru wasn't the type to just vanish. Even when the boy wandered off, he came back with some ridiculous story and that smug little grin that made Ludwig want to smack him upside the head. But tonight… nothing.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, staring at the untouched bowl. The stew wasn't good. It never was. Cooking wasn't his thing. But tonight he'd actually tried—added more seasoning, tried to get the potatoes just right. A stupid part of him had hoped Subaru might crack a grin and say, "Not bad, old man."

Now the bowl sat cold and silent, just like the rest of the house.

His eyes moved between the stew, the front door, and the mattress Subaru had been using in the corner of the living room. That cheap, thin thing barely counted as a bed, but Subaru never once complained. In fact, he'd joked about it, saying it was "good training for the back."

The silence pressed heavier with every tick of the clock. Ludwig stayed there long into the night, his thoughts circling like vultures.

By the time the first gray light of dawn slipped through the cracks around the doorframe, he hadn't slept a wink. His body ached with exhaustion, but his mind was racing too fast to care.

Something happened.

He shoved away from the table. No coat. No gloves. The cold slapped him as soon as he stepped outside, but he barely felt it. His boots crunched through the snow as he made for the tavern.

The tavern was always awake, even at an hour like this. If anyone had seen Subaru, someone here would know.

The oak doors creaked open, spilling warmth and the smell of smoke and ale. Inside, lanterns glowed against wood-paneled walls. A few regulars hunched over their mugs, talking in low tones. In the corner, a group of strangers sat together—rough faces, scarred hands, the kind of men who looked like they were only passing through.

"Ludwig!" The barkeep, Henry, called from behind the counter. His voice was cheerful, though his eyes narrowed when he got a better look at Ludwig. "Well now, that's a surprise. Don't usually see you up so early."

Henry was in his sixties, but carried himself strong. The ginger still clinging to his handlebar moustache made him look stubbornly younger than his years. He'd known Ludwig his whole life—knew when something was wrong.

Ludwig's jaw tightened. "Ain't here for a drink. Just askin' around."

Henry nodded once, reading the tone. "Understood. You let me know if you need help."

Ludwig moved table to table, asking if anyone had seen Subaru. Each shake of the head made his gut twist tighter. People looked surprised. Concerned. A few muttered that the boy had been the life of the village lately—too full of energy to just disappear.

By the time Ludwig reached the bar again, his chest was like a knot of stone.

Then a voice cut in.

"Hey, Ludwig."

He turned. It was Marcus, a man a few years younger than him, sitting near Henry. Marcus leaned forward, expression grim. "I think I know where he went… and what happened. But you ain't gonna like it."

Ludwig's stomach dropped. His voice came out flat, almost dead. "Just tell me if the boy's okay."

Marcus hesitated. Then he stood. "Better if I show you."

They walked together through the snow, silence heavy between them. The village grew quieter as they neared its edge, the trees looming dark against the pale sky. Then Marcus stopped, raising a hand.

Ludwig followed his gaze—and froze.

Blood. Streaked across the snow just beyond the boundary of the village. Not much. Not enough to say for sure. But enough to make his breath hitch. Enough to hollow him out.

His throat tightened. He stared, unblinking, as if by sheer force he could will the red stain to mean something else.

"Fuckin' hell," he whispered, voice breaking. He tried to keep his face steady, but he felt it—hot moisture gathering in his eyes. He wasn't thinking straight. If he was— he might've questioned the whole situation.

Marcus reached for his shoulder, but Ludwig didn't even notice. The world had shrunk to that single smear of blood and the thought of a boy lying dead somewhere in the woods.

Subaru wasn't his son. Not really. But the damn kid had barged into his life, loud and stubborn and infuriating, and before Ludwig had even realized it, he'd started to care. Really care.

One tear slid free, carving a path down his cheek. He turned away sharply, trudging back toward his house. Marcus let his hand fall, guilt flickering in his eyes. What kind of friend am I, lettin' him go through this alone…

The door closed behind Ludwig. And the dam broke.

"DAMN IT!" His roar shook the quiet house.

His fist slammed into the wall, plaster cracking under the blow. Rage surged. He staggered to the kitchen, arm sweeping across the table with all his strength. Bowls shattered against the wall, stew splattering down in streaks. The table itself flipped, crashing to the floor with a deafening bang.

He was breathing hard, chest heaving, nails digging into his palms until blood welled. His eyes flicked to the mattress. Empty. Always empty.

The sight gutted him.

Snarling, he grabbed the couch and heaved it onto its back. Beneath it lay a trapdoor, old and worn. His hands shook as he pulled it open, revealing a black box coated in dust.

He dragged it out, popped the lid, and pulled free the bottle inside. Strongest liquor Henry had ever sold him, untouched for years. He yanked the cork free and drank deep, the burn searing his throat.

Half gone before he even lowered it.

"Stupid kid," he rasped, clutching the bottle so tight his knuckles whitened. "Damn pathetic excuse fer a person… always tryin' to be someone ya ain't."

The words were meant for Subaru, but he knew. He knew he was cursing himself.

"Ya piece of shit."

Ludwig shoved the empty bottle aside, breath ragged, chest still burning. The liquor left his head swimming, but in the haze a single fragile thought burned through.

No body. No sign of mabeasts. He might still be alive.

That faint sliver of hope was enough to drag him to his feet. He stumbled, one knee slamming the floor, but he forced himself upright again, clutching the wall for balance. The house looked like a battlefield—broken bowls, overturned furniture—but he didn't care. He had to move.

Boots half-laced, coat forgotten, he pushed out the door into the biting cold. The snow crunched under his uneven steps, the world spinning as the liquor clawed at his stomach. His breath plumed in heavy, uneven bursts.

Each shadow stretched longer than it should have, whispering doubts he tried to shove down. He muttered to himself, half prayers, half curses.

"Stupid kid… bet yer fine… bet yer out there runnin' yer mouth while I—" He cut himself off with a rough laugh that caught in his throat.

He tripped on a loose cobblestone and lurched forward, barely catching himself on a fencepost. The wood creaked under his grip. He hung there, head bowed, eyes stinging. Heads turned. A few villagers frowned at the sight of him—pale, blood on his knuckles, eyes red, smelling of strong liquor.

He ignored all of it.

"Ya better be alive, ya brat," he rasped, voice breaking. "Ya better…"

The cold bit at his ears, his hands, but he didn't feel it anymore. He staggered on, weaving through the empty streets until the tavern's lantern light finally spilled across the snow ahead.

The big oak doors loomed like the gates to some final judgment. He shoved them open, stumbling inside, the warmth and noise crashing into him at once. His gaze locked onto the rough men in the corner.

"Yo-hah," he slurred, staggering toward them, each step louder than it should have been. "You… mercenarrrries?"

The one in front. broad-shouldered- scar running down his jaw, looked him over, raising a brow.

"Depends on what you want."

Ludwig dropped to his knees with a thud. Forehead pressed to the floor, the dogeza pose Subaru himself had once used. His words came broken, but the desperation was clear.

"Iff ya fi-hind Subaru… I'll puh-pay ya five—no, fif-teen holy coins!"

The men exchanged startled looks. Too much money for one boy. Too good to be true.

Then Ludwig fumbled in his coat, pulling out four holy coins and holding them out in trembling, bloodied hands.

"Pluh-hease…"

The leader crouched, laying a hand on Ludwig's shoulder with false warmth.

Henry, who had hurried over, clenched his jaw. He crouched down and whispered something quickly to the mercenary, describing Subaru: a boy with messy black hair, foreign clothes, a sharp tongue, and a smile that managed to win people over despite himself. He also mentioned that he always was around a hooded girl.

"Raise your head," he said smoothly. Ludwig obeyed, swaying. The coins vanished into the man's pocket.

"Don't worry. We'll find your kid," the man promised, voice oily. He glanced at his men and raised his axe high. "Ain't that right, boys?"

"Yeah!" they roared, mugs clashing together.

But before Ludwig could respond, his body gave out. He collapsed sideways with a dull thud, out cold on the tavern floor. Henry swore under his breath and, with another patron's help, dragged him to the back, laying him on a few blankets. Henry didn't like seeing him like this but could understand why he picked up the bottle after all that time.

Karl didn't spare him another glance. He stood, adjusting the axe strapped to his back, and motioned for his men to follow.

Once outside, the cold air bit sharper than before. Karl grinned, teeth glinting in the lantern light. "We came here to bleed this village, boys. Stores, homes, anything worth coin." He tapped the pocket heavy with Ludwig's payment. "But now? We've got ourselves a bigger prize. A missing prince, wrapped up with that witch we heard about."

The others chuckled darkly, tightening cloaks and checking their weapons.

"Must be my lucky day," Karl muttered, eyes gleaming as he set off into the snow.

Karl trudged into the clearing, boots crunching against the snow. His men fanned out behind him, some adjusting grips on their weapons, others smirking like this would be easy coin. At the center stood the pair — the silver-haired girl wearing a simple green dress, and the dark-haired boy standing in front of her.

A grin tugged at Karl's scarred mouth. So this was the infamous "witch." And the brat. The very kid that drunken fool had begged him to find. Easy.

"The witch finally reveals herself," Karl called, his deep voice cutting through the frigid air.

The boy stiffened instantly. He didn't speak, didn't flinch away — just glared back, trembling but defiant.

Karl's mustache twitched as his grin widened. "And there's the boy we're lookin' for."

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Snow drifted lazily down, the only sound the whistle of the wind through the trees. Karl's men shifted, waiting for his signal. He was just about to give it—

"YOU BASTARD!"

The force of it rattled Karl's chest. The snow beneath his feet vibrated like the world itself was holding its breath. His men shifted uneasily, glancing at one another.

Then it happened.

From nothingness, a crimson beast materialized behind the boy. Eighty feet tall, winged and terrible. Its scales shimmered like blood beneath moonlight. Its teeth gleamed sharp as obsidian, and its molten-gold eyes burned with unearthly fury. Curved horns swept back from its head, its very presence radiating heat so intense Karl felt the sweat bead on his brow despite the snow around them.

Everyone froze — even the silver-haired witch.

Karl's throat tightened. He had seen monsters, bandits, even mabeasts in his time, but nothing like this. Nothing close.

"W-what… what is that?!" one of his men whimpered.

Another turned to Karl, face pale. "B-Boss, I think we should run—"

Karl couldn't answer.

The boy wasn't moving like himself anymore. His body shifted as if possessed by something greater, wrath and grief pouring off him in waves. He stood unconscious yet upright, the dragon behind him mirroring every motion.

It roared. The sound cracked the forest like thunder, shaking snow from the branches, rattling Karl's bones so hard he thought they might break. His grip slipped on the axe handle.

Then the boy raised his hand, and his voice came sharp, cold, merciless:

"I flipped a coin in my mind. Heads, you live. Tails, you don't."

Karl's blood ran cold. He couldn't breathe.

The boy pointed forward. "Tails. Burn."

The dragon obeyed. Its maw opened wide, a massive sphere of fire swirling inside, the heat so intense the air itself warped and twisted. The mercenaries screamed in panic, stumbling back. Karl's mind raced — fight, run, beg — but his legs refused to move.

The boy's fury had become something unstoppable.

The fireball churned brighter, the heat blistering against Karl's skin even from yards away. His men scrambled, dropping weapons in the snow, their shouts blurring into a single frantic chorus.

This wasn't a boy. This wasn't human.

Karl's breath caught when the witch girl's voice cut through the panic.

"Subaru, stop! You shouldn't hurt them!"

Her words rang desperate, trembling, but clear enough to pierce the boy's haze.

For a moment, Karl thought it was too late — the dragon's maw glowed like the heart of a volcano, ready to consume them all. He braced for the searing agony he knew was coming.

But then — the heat shifted.

The boy didn't move, yet the fireball inside the dragon's throat flickered and dispersed into embers. The beast snarled, shaking its massive head. Instead of unleashing hell upon them, it turned upward.

With a thunderous, earth-shaking roar, the dragon exhaled a column of flame into the heavens. The blaze ripped through the night sky, so bright it was as though the sun itself had descended on the frozen forest. The air burned hot, snow melted to slush, and Karl's men fell back, shielding their eyes.

And just as suddenly as it appeared, the inferno died.

The dragon loomed behind the boy, its molten gaze sweeping over Karl and his trembling band. They didn't need an order.

"Run!" someone screamed.

Weapons clattered to the ground. Boots pounded against the snow as the mercenaries bolted into the trees, terror driving them faster than they'd ever run before. Karl staggered back with them, heart hammering in his chest. He didn't look back. Couldn't.

Not until they'd put a good stretch of forest between themselves and that cursed clearing.

Even then, the image seared itself into his mind.

The boy. The witch. The dragon.

Karl wiped the cold sweat from his brow with a trembling hand. He'd come here thinking they were after an easy bounty — a missing kid, some coin from a grieving drunk. Maybe even a village ripe for the taking.

But now…

They had stepped into something far beyond them.

And Karl, for the first time in years, felt the kind of fear that shook him to his core.

Snow crunched under their boots as Karl and his men tore through the forest, lungs burning, the memory of that dragon's roar still echoing in their skulls. None of them dared look back — none wanted to see if the crimson beast had followed.

At last, the trees thinned. The world before them shifted sharply — no gradual change, but a clean divide. Behind them lay a wasteland of permafrost, silent and cruel. Before them stretched a lush field, green and vibrant as though untouched by winter's grasp. The sudden sight of color after so much white felt like a dream.

Karl staggered to the edge, planting the blade of his axe into the ground to keep himself upright. His men collapsed one by one, wheezing, muttering curses under their breath. Relief spread among them like a wave.

Karl straightened, about to rally them, when a childlike voice rang out from beyond the border.

"Ricky, look! We found the nasty men!"

Karl's blood ran cold. Slowly, he turned.

Standing in the green field was a small demi-human girl. Orange hair tied into twin tails framed her face, cat ears flicking as she grinned wide. Despite her size, there was no fear in her aqua-green eyes — only a mischievous spark.

Behind her towered a wolf demi-human, broad-shouldered and scarred, with a mane styled like a mohawk. A massive hatchet-like greatsword rested casually against his shoulder. His sharp green eyes studied the mercenaries as if weighing their worth.

"Tch… you've got to be kidding me," Karl spat under his breath, fingers tightening around his axe. He'd been hoping to regroup, not stumble straight into another damned wall.

"You're still after us?" he barked, raising his voice now, trying to cover the tremor beneath it. "Fine! I'd rather fight you than that monster back there! Get 'em, boys!"

But before his men could respond, two more figures burst from the snowbank to his left and right.

"AAA—!"

Twin voices rang out as a boy and girl — both with the same feline features as the first — exhaled in unison. Mana surged from their mouths in a concentrated wave, crashing into the ground around Karl's group. Snow exploded upward, blinding them in a storm of white. Karl stumbled back, his axe slipping from his hands as he hit the ground hard.

"Sorry," the wolf demi-human said with a grin, stepping forward as the snow settled. His voice carried both warmth and menace. "But lil' Ana asked us to capture you." He pressed the flat of his greatsword under Karl's chin, forcing his head up. At this distance, Karl could make out every detail: the sharp teeth, the faint smile, the unmistakable crest of the Hoshin Company stamped on his pauldron.

Karl's gut twisted. He hadn't noticed before while on the run. 'My luck is really shitty today'

"We knocked the re—" one of the cat siblings began proudly.

"Mimi and Hetaro took care of the rest!" Mimi interrupted, tail flicking, her twin-tied hair bouncing as she gestured toward the snow.

Karl's eyes darted past them. His men — all of them — lay unconscious in a neat pile, stripped of their weapons. Not a single one left standing.

Footsteps crunched softly behind the twins. A boy stepped forward, glasses glinting in the pale light. His aqua-green eyes, cool and analytical, fixed on Karl with unsettling calm. A polished monocle sat over his left eye, giving him a sharp, calculating air that made Karl's throat tighten.

"You bandits have caused quite a lot of trouble," Tivey said evenly. "Posing as mercenaries tarnishes our name. You also stole from our lady. And that," he adjusted his monocle, "we cannot allow."

Karl scowled, trying to mask the fear creeping into his chest. "We've got a name too, you know."

"Not important," Tivey replied curtly. His eyes flicked to Mimi. "Mimi, if you would?"

But before she could move, Hetaro lifted a hand lazily. His medium-length hair brushed over his droopy eyes as he tilted his head. "Actually, Tivey… can I ask him something first?"

Tivey gave a small nod.

Hetaro crouched down to Karl's level, his gaze soft but unsettlingly sharp beneath the sleepy expression. "When you said you'd rather fight us than whoever was in that forest… did you mean the witch?"

Karl's chest seized. His eyes widened despite himself. He hadn't meant to admit anything — not to them. But the memory of the dragon, of that boy screaming inhuman words, crashed back into his mind. He couldn't lie.

His voice broke. "I'd rather fight you lot a million times over than face that witch and her warlock again."

At that, both Tivey and Ricardo's expressions hardened. They exchanged a glance — one of recognition, and of quiet dread.

"…Isn't that where lil' Miss Ana's business partner lives?" Ricardo murmured.

Tivey's lips thinned. "We should get back and report this."

Before Karl could protest, Ricardo's hand clamped around his collar as though he weighed nothing. Karl tried to struggle, but a sharp blow to the temple sent the world spinning into blackness.

The last thing he saw was the cursed forest behind them, its edge looming like a scar on the land.

Elsewhere.

The forest was quiet again, as though the chaos of moments ago had never happened. Emilia's breath puffed white in the cold as she hurried through the snow, Subaru leaning heavily against her. His body was warm but limp, his breathing steady but shallow. She tightened her hold around him, her chest aching at the weight of his exhaustion.

"Hang on, Subaru," she whispered, her voice trembling. "We're almost there."

His head shifted faintly against her shoulder, but he didn't wake.

Above her, a faint shimmer of blue drifted closer. Puck hovered alongside her, his tiny form glowing softly against the bleak snow. His expression was uncharacteristically serious as he studied Subaru's pale face.

"Lia," Puck said gently, "don't push yourself too hard. He's stable. Just asleep."

"I know," she replied quickly, almost defensively. She adjusted her hold on Subaru, brushing a stray lock of his dark hair from his forehead. "But… seeing him like this- I can't help it, Puck."

The spirit gave her a sympathetic smile but didn't press further. He could see the worry etched in her eyes.

It didn't take long for her small home to come into view, tucked away at the edge of the forest. Relief washed over her, and she all but sprinted the last stretch. Inside, the warmth of the hearth greeted them. Emilia carefully lowered Subaru onto her bed, tucking the blanket snugly around him.

She lingered there, sitting on the edge of the bed, her fingers brushing his hand. He didn't stir. His face was peaceful, too peaceful, and that frightened her more than if he'd been in pain.

"Puck," she whispered, glancing up at him, "why won't he wake up?"

The spirit floated closer, landing softly on the edge of the pillow. His small paw patted Subaru's hair.

"He's not hurt, Lia. He just burned through everything he had. Summoning that dragon… it must've drained him completely."

Her eyes widened. "So it really… happened." The image of the towering crimson beast replayed in her mind: scales like molten blood, eyes glowing with fury, a roar that rattled the very ground. She shivered. "That was him, wasn't it? Subaru did that."

Puck nodded slowly. "He's stronger than he knows. But if he keeps using power like that recklessly, his body won't keep up."

The words cut into her. Subaru's reckless bravery-- the way he'd thrown himself in front of her without hesitation. It was heroic, but it terrified her. She bit her lip, her chest tightening.

"…I told him not to be reckless," she murmured, tears pricking at her eyes. "I told him…"

She shook her head, wiping at them quickly. He was safe. That was what mattered. She leaned down, brushing her fingers gently against his cheek.

"You need to rest now," she whispered to him, her voice soft but steady. "So sleep, Subaru. I'll be here when you wake."

After a moment's hesitation, she stood. Puck tilted his head as she pulled her cloak around her shoulders.

"Going somewhere?"

"I have to," she answered firmly. "We need supplies — food, herbs, maybe something warm for him." Her violet eyes flicked toward Subaru once more, reluctant to leave. "Please, Puck… stay with him."

The little spirit puffed up proudly. "Of course. I'll keep him safe, Lia."

She gave him a faint, grateful smile and slipped out the door. The cold air bit at her cheeks, but she barely noticed. This time, she didn't walk. She ran — through the forest paths she knew so well, avoiding every shadow, her heart pounding with urgency.

The village came into view, roofs dusted with snow, faint smoke curling from chimneys. Usually she kept her head down, moving quietly so as not to draw attention. But today, she stormed straight down the main path, her cloak trailing behind her. Villagers turned, some whispering, but she didn't slow.

Her destination was clear: Ludwig's shop.

The bell above the door chimed as she pushed it open. But the counter was empty. No sign of him. Her chest tightened.

"Ludwig?" she called softly. Silence answered.

She moved toward the back, noticing at once the door ajar. She hesitated, she didn't want to intrude, but something felt wrong. Pushing it open, she froze.

The house was a wreck. Shattered dishes littered the floor. Furniture lay overturned. The air was heavy, the kind of silence left after a storm.

Her breath hitched. "What happened here…?"

She stepped inside cautiously, scanning the mess. Her pulse quickened.

"Ludwig?" she called again, louder this time. No answer.

Panic prickled in her chest. She darted back outside, flagging down the nearest villager. "Please- have you seen Ludwig?"

The villager frowned, then nodded slowly. "Saw him earlier today. Stumbling toward the tavern. Looked like he'd had too much."

She thanked them hurriedly and took off again, her boots crunching against the snow as she reached the tavern. Without hesitation, she slammed the door open. Every head inside turned to her. The sudden weight of their stares made her shrink back for a moment, but she forced her voice out.

"E-excuse me- w-where is Ludwig?" she asked, her words small, trembling.

The silence in the tavern was thick. Then the old barkeep, Henry, raised a hand from behind the counter. "Miss… are you a friend of his?"

Emilia nodded quickly.

"Come with me."

He led her to a small room in the back. There, sitting on a stool with a mug of water in his hands, was Ludwig. His face was pale, tired, but when his eyes lifted to hers, something like hope flickered there.

"Those bastards took my money and ran" he muttered under his breath. Too quiet for even her to hear.

"Tell me," he asked softly, his voice raw, "is the kid okay?"

Her heart clenched. She nodded, stepping closer. "Subaru's fine. He just… he exhausted himself. He needs to rest for a while, but he's safe."

Relief crashed over him. He sagged forward, a long, shaky breath escaping his chest. "Thank the dragon…"

It wasn't the same dragon, but the words made Emilia's lips twitch into a faint, bittersweet smile.

Ludwig slowly pushed himself up from the stool, one hand pressing against his temple as if the weight of the world had been resting there. Even sitting, he looked exhausted, eyes red from a night with little sleep and too much drink, but the moment Emilia mentioned Subaru was safe, he seemed to regain just enough strength to move.

"Come on," he muttered, his voice low but steadier now. He didn't check to see if she followed; he simply moved, his heavy boots dragging softly against the floor as he made his way back toward his shop. Emilia trailed behind, worry etched into her features, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

When they entered the store, Ludwig immediately began moving with a purpose she hadn't expected from a man who had looked half-dead moments ago. His hands, though large and calloused, were careful as he picked through shelves and crates, selecting items without hesitation: bread, dried meats, herbs, and a small pouch of spices. He set each item neatly on the counter, not meeting her eyes.

Emilia watched silently, unsure if she should say something. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, exactly- it was heavy, filled with things unsaid. She could see the strain in his movements, the way his broad shoulders tensed as though holding back emotion he refused to show.

At last, Ludwig turned to the special shelf behind the counter. His hand lingered there for a moment before he pulled down a small crate. Inside were several bright riberries, their skin gleaming like drops of blood-red glass. He added a few to the pile, then paused, as if debating something. With a small sigh, he added a few more than usual.

Emilia's lips parted, touched by the quiet kindness. "Ludwig, you don't have to- "

He lifted a hand sharply, palm facing her. "Stop." His voice was rough, flat, but there was no malice behind it. Only weariness. "Just take it."

Her silver eyes widened, and she shook her head quickly. "No, no, I can't. I- please, let me pay. It wouldn't feel right otherwise." She fumbled with the clasp of her satchel, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for her coin purse.

"Emilia." The sound of her name—firm, steady—froze her in place. It wasn't often that he used her name directly.

He looked down at the counter, avoiding her gaze, his jaw tightening. "Just… let me do this fer the kid, alright?" His voice softened almost imperceptibly. "Don't take that away from me."

Her breath caught. She could see it now- the quiet desperation in his posture, the way his broad hands gripped the edge of the counter as if anchoring himself. He wasn't just giving her supplies. He was grasping at the only way he knew how to help, to feel like he hadn't failed the boy he clearly cared for.

Emilia's chest tightened with empathy. Slowly, she released her satchel's clasp and let her hands fall back to her sides. A gentle smile curved her lips beneath her hood.

"…Thank you, Ludwig."

He gave a curt nod, still not meeting her eyes. "Yeah. Just… take care of him. And come more often."

She blinked at the last part, a flicker of surprise in her expression. But when she looked at him, she realized it wasn't a demand. It was a plea, hidden under his usual gruffness.

"I will," she promised softly.

Gathering the goods into her satchel, she carefully slung the new blanket and spare clothes over her shoulder. The bag was almost overflowing now, but she managed, determined not to drop a single thing. She glanced back once more at Ludwig before stepping out into the cold.

The moment the door closed, Ludwig's shoulders slumped. He gripped the counter tightly, his breath shuddering. The tears he had been holding back finally broke free, hot and silent down his weathered cheeks. He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, his chest heaving.

A rough chuckle escaped him, half-bitter, half-relieved. "I'm too old fer this…" he muttered, his voice breaking. 

A platinum haired child watched the village from the distance.

She smiled.