"Andrea, where is my mother? In her office?" Shiki asked quickly, her voice nearly racing against her own footsteps.
"Eh—Yo-Young Princess, Madam is in her office. However, she requested that you have breakfast first before seeing her—"
"I don't have time for that!" Shiki cut her off without hesitation, her hand already pulling at Andrea's arm. "Come on, take me there. I want to see Mother. Now."
The tone of her voice was light, almost cheerful—something Andrea hadn't heard from her in years. She could only remain silent, allowing herself to be pulled along the corridors of the grand estate.
Shiki's steps were steady. Every turn, every pillar, every painting on the wall felt so deeply familiar. Her feet moved without hesitation, as if time had never separated her from this place. The house welcomed her with a perfectly organized silence, just as she always remembered it.
Without knocking, Shiki pushed the study door open.
"Mother!"
The cry echoed lightly in the spacious room, which was filled with the scent of paper and aged wood.
Behind a massive mahogany desk, its surface covered in neat stacks of documents and a glowing laptop, a woman looked up. Her hand stopped mid-motion, a pen still clutched between her fingers.
Her red hair was cut to shoulder length, falling neatly along a jawline that was sharp yet refined. Sunlight from the side window caught the strands, giving them a warm gleam. The gaze of her blue eyes—sharp, clear, and calculating—shifted from the screen to her daughter's face, flashing a brief surprise that was quickly masked by her trademark composure.
She wore a beige blazer tailored perfectly to her shoulders without a single wasted fold, paired with a pristine white blouse buttoned impeccably. Her black knee-length skirt fell straight, accentuating a posture honed by years spent standing in boardrooms and at negotiation tables. There was no excessive jewelry, only a thin watch on her wrist, glinting faintly with her every movement.
Everything about her spoke of control.
Of someone accustomed to holding the reins of decision, not asking for them.
Emberlyn Ganko. The woman who built her business empire with her own hands, whose name commanded more respect at the negotiating table than many pure-blooded nobles. Her marriage to a prince of the Ganko Family made her a part of that great lineage, but even without the surname, her mere presence was enough to make the room feel smaller.
But all of that rigidity crumbled in an instant.
"Shiki?"
Her chair scraped backward with a soft thud. Emberlyn stood, her confusion not yet forming into a question, as Shiki was already running toward her.
"Mother!"
Shiki threw herself into the embrace without hesitation, holding on tightly as if terrified the figure before her would vanish if she let go. Andrea froze in the doorway, her face pale, unable to say a word at the sight of a scene she had almost never witnessed.
For a brief second, Emberlyn stiffened.
Then her hands lifted, hesitant, before finally wrapping around her daughter. Her touch was warm, steady—the embrace of someone used to carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, now allowing a single fragile thing to lean on her.
That body. That warmth. That scent, so painfully familiar.
All the long-buried memories seemed to resurrect at once.
"Mother… I missed you so much," Shiki's voice broke, muffled against the fabric of the blazer. Her sobs hitched, then collapsed entirely. Tears flowed uncontrollably, soaking her mother's chest, as if all the suffering of the past years—the loneliness, the fear, and the devastation in the Procession Tower—had finally found a place to be released.
Emberlyn said nothing.
She simply hugged her daughter tighter, and for the first time that morning, the pen she had still been holding slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor, forgotten.
Emberlyn, despite her confusion, fought to remain calm. Her arms held Shiki tightly, but her sharp gaze—cold and calculating—drifted toward Andrea. The look was more than just a question; it was the silent pressure she routinely applied in boardrooms and negotiations.
Andrea flinched. Her face grew paler, her lips trembling before she could only manage a slow shake of her head. She truly had no idea what was happening.
"Shiki," Emberlyn's voice was soft, almost trembling, yet wrapped in an undeniable firmness, "my dearest daughter… who made you cry? Tell your mother. Whoever it is, I will take care of them."
The tone was not merely a mother's promise. It was a declaration. A subtle threat, born from someone accustomed to ruining lives without ever needing to dirty her own hands.
Shiki had grown up under the shadow of a love so immense it left no room for lack. Whatever she desired was always provided—not tomorrow, not later, but now. If the world refused, then the world would be adjusted. The Ganko Family never allowed Shiki to learn about loss, much less rejection.
Perhaps that was why she had grown into a fragile girl wrapped in luxury. Spoiled, sheltered, kept far away from anything that could hurt her—until the moment that protection crumbled, and she was thrown into the Procession Tower without knowing how to survive.
Yet, Shiki never blamed them.
To her, her parents' love was too great to be questioned. Too blindingly strong. They never saw the danger coming, because they never allowed the world to get close enough to touch their daughter.
Shiki shook her head gently, tears dampening her mother's clothes.
"I just missed you, Mother…" she whispered faintly, as if afraid the words would shatter if spoken any louder.
To her, whatever had happened in the Procession Tower was over. The pain felt distant, like an abruptly severed nightmare. Right now, she wanted only one thing: for this moment to last just a little longer. For this little piece of heaven not to collapse like it had before.
She hugged her mother tighter, both arms wrapping around Emberlyn's slender waist. She buried her face against her mother's stomach, seeking the warmth that had long been stolen from her. Emberlyn responded by slowly stroking Shiki's red hair, her movements full of affection and patience.
But Shiki couldn't see her mother's face.
Couldn't see the tightening of her jaw. Couldn't see those blue eyes now ablaze—not with tears, but with a cold, directed fury.
Who dared to touch my daughter? Who made her cry?
Emberlyn's mind raced, calculating possibilities, plotting moves. If Shiki wouldn't speak, then she would find the answer herself. There was always a way—through confidential reports, surveillance, or those who owed debts to the Ganko name.
Should I tell Shinsei? If I stay silent, he will be furious. But if I act now…
Memories of the arranged marriage chaos from a few months ago flashed through her mind. The country had only just settled. Too much blood and intrigue had been swept under the rug for the sake of stability.
Could Ignisira withstand another upheaval… if I were to make a move?
Her hand continued to stroke Shiki's hair, but the touch now felt like a velvet blanket draped over a drawn blade.
Meanwhile, Shiki tilted her head, pressing her ear to her mother's stomach. That heartbeat—steady, alive, real—made her smile softly through her tears.
If only time could stop. If only she could stay in this embrace forever, without war, without the Procession Tower, without a world that demanded her blood as its price.