Five days slipped by faster than Nhilly expected.
The palace shifted with the rhythm of preparation banners raised, armouries stocked, new soldiers arriving from the city in droves. The halls that once hummed with ritual calm now throbbed with movement and noise, yet Nhilly still found silence in the cracks between it all.
He spent those days much as before training when necessary, avoiding people when possible, and thinking more than he should. Celeste busied herself helping the quartermasters organize supplies. Kael took to sparring with the palace knights, quietly testing their coordination. Eli mostly complained, drank, and laughed it off when the stress showed.
Seris, though… Seris seemed to move with purpose. Every time Nhilly saw her, she was preparing something studying maps, refining her sword technique, strengthening her body even as fatigue weighed on her like armour. She never said it aloud, but the others could tell she was already halfway gone in her mind.
The night before her departure, she was summoned to the king's audience chamber.
Nhilly didn't plan to go. He told himself he didn't care what ceremony they held for her, that it was just another performance. But when the echo of the palace bells rolled through the walls deep, solemn, final he found himself walking.
The hall to the throne room stretched long and golden, its walls lined with banners depicting the sun crest of Lydia. Guards stood at either side, their armour gleaming under torchlight. Beyond the open doors, the faint murmur of voices carried nobles, priests, and the king himself.
Seris stood before the throne, flanked by Celeste, Kael, and Eli. She was dressed in polished silver armour, the cloak of the royal vanguard draped across her shoulders. The king's voice boomed with practiced warmth.
"Seris of the Divine Vanguard," he declared, "your courage shall lead our armies across the border of Wyre. The gods themselves will watch your steps and shield your path."
The gathered nobles murmured in approval, a ripple of reverent agreement filling the hall.
Seris bowed her head. "Your Majesty," she said, her tone calm and measured, "it is an honour to serve Lydia in its time of need."
Nhilly watched from the edge of the crowd, unseen among the advisors and attendants. He could see the faint tremor in her hands small, almost invisible but she hid it well.
When the ceremony ended, and the king dismissed them with blessings from the Constellations, Seris turned to leave. That's when she saw him, leaning against one of the marble pillars near the exit.
"You didn't have to come," she said quietly as she approached.
"Didn't plan to," Nhilly replied. "But curiosity's a persistent thing."
She smiled faintly. "About the speech?"
"About why you didn't throw up halfway through it," he said.
That earned a real laugh small, quick, but genuine. "It's a talent," she said.
They walked together down the corridor. For a while, neither spoke. The torches flickered above them, shadows weaving between steps.
Finally, Nhilly asked, "You sure you're ready for this?"
"No," Seris said honestly. "But I don't think anyone ever is."
He nodded slightly. "You're still going alone?"
"A small escort," she said. "Scouts, a few knights. Enough to look official, not enough to be noticed."
"Smart," he said, though his tone carried no conviction.
They reached a window overlooking the courtyard. Below, soldiers were gathering lines of armour and cloth glinting under the dawn-like light that never changed. Beyond them, citizens crowded near the gates, waving banners painted with the sun emblem. The sound of them cheering reached even this high up, muffled but steady.
Seris followed Nhilly's gaze. "They really believe it, don't they?"
"That you're saving them?" he asked. "Yeah. They have to."
She looked down for a long moment. "It's strange. You spend enough time here, and you almost forget they're not real."
Nhilly's voice lowered. "That's what scares me."
When she glanced at him, his expression was unreadable something between exhaustion and restraint.
"I don't go down there," he said. "Because every time I see them… I start to believe it too. The smiles, the tears it's too convincing. The gods don't make mistakes with their puppets."
Seris didn't answer right away. Then, quietly, she said, "Maybe they're more than puppets. Maybe the gods don't write everything."
Nhilly's eyes stayed on the crowd. "You sound like Celeste."
"Maybe she's right," Seris said, a faint smile touching her lips.
He didn't argue.
Morning came too early.
The city gates stood open, the streets overflowing with people merchants, families, priests all pressing close to see their heroes off. The air was alive with sound: cheers, prayers, cries of hope and desperation. Flags waved from every balcony, and flowers were scattered along the cobblestones like blessings.
Nhilly stood among the outer ranks of the royal escort, cloak drawn tight around him, trying not to stand out. Celeste stood near the front with the other heroes, her hands clasped as priests offered their final benedictions.
Seris mounted her horse, adjusting her sword. Her expression was calm, distant the mask of someone who couldn't afford to feel.
Kael moved closer. "You don't have to do this," he said under his breath.
"I do," she replied, eyes forward.
Celeste smiled faintly up at her. "Then come back soon."
Eli crossed his arms. "Yeah, don't make us have to rescue you. It's a hassle."
That drew a few soft laughs from the soldiers nearby, easing the tension for a moment.
Then the horn blew.
The gates creaked open wider, and the march began.
The soldiers moved first rows of armour gleaming like a living river. Behind them, the banners of Lydia rose high, sunlight catching their golden threads. The cheers swelled, drowning out the sound of hooves and metal.
Nhilly stayed still, watching.
He'd told himself it was all illusion that none of this was real. But as he saw the soldier's glance back at their families the wife's clutching hands to their hearts, the fathers holding children up to wave something twisted in his chest.
A few of the soldiers were crying as they marched. Not from fear, but from love. From the unbearable weight of being human.
Seris rode at the front, her cloak fluttering behind her, her posture perfect and proud. To the crowd, she looked like a saviour. To Nhilly, she looked like a ghost walking into her own story.
Celeste reached for his arm beside him. "You could've gone down to see her off," she said gently.
Nhilly shook his head. "No. I'm fine here."
She studied him for a moment, then smiled sadly. "You're a terrible liar."
He didn't answer. His eyes stayed fixed on the procession until it vanished through the outer gates.
The cheering faded, replaced by the sound of wind moving through the emptying streets.
For a while, Nhilly said nothing. Then, under his breath, he muttered, "That's the problem with perfection. It feels too real."
Celeste looked at him, puzzled, but he'd already turned to leave.
That night, the city was quiet again. The torches burned low, and the stars above flickered faintly in a pattern Nhilly couldn't name.
In his room, Draco's Shroud leaned against the wall, catching the faint light.
Nhilly sat by the window, staring out at the horizon where the road stretched endlessly into the dark.
"Five days," he murmured.
He didn't pray.
But somewhere above, one constellation blinked as if answering.