Two days.
That's what Emilia had said.
Two days until the journey to the royal capital. Two days until courtrooms, councils, and carefully veiled intentions.
But until then—quiet.
A rare, golden quiet that lingered like mist in the valleys.
Enkidu woke with the dawn.
He didn't need an alarm. The sun itself pulled him from sleep, his senses too attuned to the rhythms of nature to ignore its call. He rose before anyone else and moved silently through the mansion, the floor cool beneath his bare feet.
Outside, the garden greeted him with dew and stillness.
The herbs in Rem's corner plot had begun to flourish—basil, sage, even a few stalks of feverfew. He knelt to check the soil, brushing aside a stubborn weed with practiced ease.
The flowers leaned toward him subtly. They always did.
Breakfast at the mansion was quieter without the noise of staff or guests. Ram prepared the essentials—bread, fresh fruit, light tea—and placed them on the table with clinical precision. She barely spoke unless necessary, though Enkidu could feel her eyes on him often. Studying him.
Rem, in contrast, tried to fill the silence with warmth.
"I've added a bit more ginger to the tea today," she said as she poured. "Helps with fatigue."
"Thank you," Enkidu said simply.
Roswaal entered late, yawning dramatically. "Ahhh~ the smell of responsibility in the morning, I daresay!"
Ram rolled her eyes.
They ate in measured silence. Enkidu listened more than he spoke, the rhythm of the mansion as familiar now as the forest wind.
By midday, Enkidu walked the mansion grounds.
The wards along the perimeter shimmered faintly in his vision—small sigils etched into stones, bark, even thin air. He could feel their resonance. Since the incident in the woods, his attunement to such things had sharpened. It wasn't just sensing magic—it was understanding it.
Ram was in the training yard with a pair of house guards, drilling motions with ruthless efficiency. She acknowledged Enkidu with a brief nod as he passed.
"You should train with someone," she called. "Rust makes even stone weak."
"I'm not stone," he replied.
"No," Ram muttered. "You're something stranger."
He didn't argue.
The library was quieter than usual.
Beatrice sat perched on a stack of cushions, her nose buried in a tome thicker than most bricks. She didn't look up when Enkidu entered—just huffed.
"You again. You're like mold. Persistent and quiet, I suppose."
"Didn't know mold could read," Enkidu said, selecting a book at random.
"Tch."
They read in silence for an hour. Occasionally, she glanced at him—not with suspicion, but something close to interest. Not quite trust, not yet.
Still, she offered him tea halfway through their reading. He accepted.
That evening, Emilia found him in the old orchard behind the mansion.
The trees were bare this season, but the wind still rustled their branches like whispers. Enkidu sat beneath the largest one, legs folded, eyes closed. Listening.
She joined him without a word at first.
"I always liked this spot," she said finally. "It's quiet."
He opened his eyes. "Not empty, though."
"No," she said softly. "Never that."
They sat together as the sky deepened. The stars blinked into view, slow and patient.
"You don't talk much," she said.
"I talk when there's something to say."
She hugged her knees. "Do you think I'm doing the right thing?"
"By going to the capital?"
"Yeah."
He considered it.
"Yes," he said.
She smiled, relieved.
"I'm glad you're coming with me," she added, almost too fast.
He tilted his head. "You're sure?"
"Of course!" Her cheeks flushed slightly. "Not because of danger or anything. Just… because you're my friend. And I think having you there will help me feel less alone."
Enkidu didn't reply at first.
Then: "I'll be there."
She looked down, a little smile on her lips. "Thank you."
The next day passed in similar rhythm—quiet meals, light training, reading, and stillness.
But beneath it all, a low hum of tension stirred. Not dread. Just awareness. Something was changing.
And when the carriages were prepared the morning after, and the sky turned the soft blue of new day, Enkidu stood ready.
Not because he was ordered.
Because someone asked.
And that, for him, was reason enough.