Chapter 13: Lights.

The night in White Rose District was always quiet in just the right way.

Outside the window, rain began to fall again—soft, pattering drops muffled by thick glass, leaving only a soothing background hum.

Birch logs crackled in the fireplace, occasionally popping as they released warm, dry heat.

Hill sat in the bedroom’s soft armchair, a blanket draped over her shoulders, watching the busy Phyllis with faint helplessness.

“Phyllis, really, it’s fine. Look—even the redness is gone.”

Hill pointed to her left shoulder.

After a barrage of high-tier healing spells on the way back, not only was the burn gone—the skin there was even noticeably fairer and smoother than the surrounding area.

“No.”

Phyllis knelt in front of Hill, her expression as grave as if she were performing delicate surgery.

She held a small crystal jar and dabbed a bit of translucent cream onto her ring finger.

Moonlight Dew—a luxury product usually reserved for noble ladies to erase blemishes. A single tiny jar supposedly cost two gold coins.

“Even though the surface has healed, the underlying tissue may still be damaged.”

Phyllis’s voice was gentle; her movements even more so.

She spread the cream across Hill’s shoulder, fingertips moving in slow, careful circles until the cool ointment was fully absorbed.

“If it isn’t properly maintained, it’ll itch every time it rains.”

She leaned down and softly blew on the spot.

There was nothing flirtatious in the gesture—only pure, focused care, like a master artisan inspecting the finest porcelain for the tiniest flaw.

Hill watched the serious profile of her face. Warm lamplight cast long shadows across Phyllis’s lashes.

The small complaints she’d felt earlier slowly melted into something warm and fuzzy in her chest.

“…Thank you.”

Hill murmured.

“You’re always worrying about me like this.”

“How could this be called worrying?”

Phyllis looked up, offering a soft, refined smile.

“This is maintenance. Just as a swordswoman must sharpen her blade, taking care of Hill is my most important duty.”

She closed the jar and stood.

“There. The cream is done. Now—dinner. Would Hill like some stew? It’ll warm you up.”

“Mm. Anything you make is fine.”

Hill adjusted her collar, then suddenly remembered something.

“Right—where’s Nya? That girl carried so much in the dungeon; she must be starving.”

At the mention of the name, the curve of Phyllis’s lips stiffened for the briefest instant before smoothing out again.

“That child… I’ve already taken care of her.”

Phyllis turned and walked toward the door.

“Don’t worry. I won’t mistreat a new teammate.”

The living room.

Compared to the luxurious warmth of the bedroom, the temperature here was slightly cooler.

Freshly bathed Nya was now wearing an oversized old T-shirt.

She squatted on a thick wool rug beside the fireplace. In front of her sat what looked suspiciously like a dog bowl—though it was really just an ordinary deep porcelain dish—brimming with steaming miscellaneous stew.

It was made from leftovers, but to a stray like Nya, it might as well have been imperial cuisine.

“Delicious nya! So delicious nya!”

Nya didn’t lift her head once. Her tail whipped back and forth like a propeller, smacking the floor.

“Nya.”

Hill stepped out from the bedroom and froze at the sight.

“Why are you eating on the floor? The table’s right there.”

Nya looked up, soup still clinging to her mouth.

She glanced at Hill, then instinctively at Phyllis standing behind her.

The golden-haired sister was smiling, but her eyes clearly spelled out one message: Try getting on the table. I dare you.

“N-no need nya!”

Nya shook her head frantically like a rattle.

“The floor’s warm! Nya is used to squatting to eat! Eating at a table gives Nya indigestion!”

Hill frowned.

“What kind of weird habit is that…? And where are you sleeping tonight? The sofa’s big, but sleeping there all night will make your back hurt.”

The dormitory had only one bedroom now—one bed.

The original two rooms had long since been knocked together by Phyllis.

“About that…” Phyllis spoke up at just the right moment.

She walked to the corner and pointed at the arrangement she had just prepared.

It was an enormous woven wicker basket lined with thick old blankets and even a very soft-looking cushion.

“I prepared this for Nya.”

Phyllis explained with a gentle smile.

“Beastkin retain some wild instincts. Sleeping in an enclosed soft bed makes them feel unsafe. This semi-open basket style suits them best. Right, Nya?”

Nya stared at the basket.

Honestly, it was a hundred times better than the bridges, tree branches, and ruined temples she used to sleep in.

And that cushion looked incredibly soft.

Most importantly—Phyllis was smiling brightly at her.

“Y-yes nya!”

Nya dove inside at once, kneaded the blankets like dough, then curled into a tight ball.

“This is paradise nya! Nya loves sleeping in baskets the most!”

Hill watched the scene. Something about it felt… off.

It looked exactly like a pet bed.

But seeing how content Nya was, she could only scratch her head.

“Well… if you like it…”

“Hill is so gentle.”

Phyllis walked over, naturally linked arms with Hill, and guided her toward the dining table.

“Don’t mind her anymore. Let’s eat. She’s enjoying herself. If we stare, she’ll get nervous.”

As she turned away from Nya, Phyllis cast a quick glance at the basket from the corner of her eye.

Yes—perfect position.

Tucked in the living-room corner, farthest from the bedroom door.

It could serve as an alarm system and wouldn’t pick up any sounds from inside the bedroom.

Deep into the night.

Nya was already snoring—purring loudly—inside her basket.

For a stray cat, sleeping in a place with no leaks and actual heating was already overwhelming bliss.

In the bedroom, the lights had been dimmed to the lowest setting.

Hill was asleep.

Perhaps from the day’s fright, or perhaps thanks to the calming incense—her breathing was deep and even.

Phyllis was not sleeping.

She wore only a thin morning robe and sat on the soft stool beside the bed. In the faint magical lamplight, she held needle and thread.

On her lap lay Hill’s white leather armor—the one whose skirt hem had been melted by acid earlier today.

“What a pity…”

Phyllis traced the charred hole with trembling fingertips.

This garment had been chosen with such care. It fit Hill so perfectly, looked so pure on her.

And yet on its very first outing, it had been ruined.

“I’ll mend it.”

She threaded silver silk through the needle.

She could have repaired it instantly with magic.

But she didn’t.

For Phyllis, sewing Hill’s clothes by hand was a sacred ritual.

The needle pierced tough leather with tiny soft thuds.

Her movements were practiced, elegant—every stitch spaced with micrometer precision.

Slowly, the ugly tear vanished.

In its place remained only a small wild rose embroidered in silver thread.

It covered the scar and lent the armor an extra touch of delicate beauty.

“Haa…”

Phyllis bit off the thread and admired her work with satisfaction.

Then she did something Hill would never have imagined.

She buried her face in the armor’s lining.

The part that had pressed against Hill’s chest and abdomen.

She inhaled deeply.

Even after battle, even with a faint trace of acid, Hill’s unique scent still lingered there.

The smell of life.

Proof that she was alive.

“Haaah…”

A stifled sigh escaped Phyllis. Her eyes in the dimness looked dazed, feverish.

“Hill… my Hill…”

She set the armor aside and slipped silently onto the bed.

She didn’t embrace Hill directly—she was afraid of waking her.

Instead she lay on her side, greedily tracing Hill’s sleeping face in the faint light.

In her sleep, Hill seemed to sense the gaze. She frowned slightly, turned over—and faced Phyllis.

Her hand reached out unconsciously and caught the edge of Phyllis’s robe.

Phyllis froze.

Then an overwhelming wave of happiness crashed over her like a tsunami.

“…Silly.”

She gently took that hand and pressed kiss after kiss to it.

“Bad dream? Or looking for me?”

“It’s okay. I’m right here.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always watch over you.”

She traced a small rune in the air with her fingertip.

Soundproof barrier—strengthened.

Sleep guardian.

All sound was sealed away.

In this tiny box containing only the two of them, Phyllis felt she possessed the entire world.

“Tomorrow…”

Phyllis closed her eyes, forehead resting against Hill’s, whispering softly.

“Tomorrow I’ll enchant this armor with absolute acid resistance, physical rebound, and self-cleaning spells.”

“It’ll be heavier. It’ll consume more mana…”

“But to let you fly a little more safely… it’s necessary.”

Outside, the rain had stopped.

Moonlight slipped through the clouds and fell across the repaired armor on the bedside table.

That single silver rose glinted coldly, beautifully in the lunar glow.

Like an exquisite seal.