CHAPTER 93…………………………………
Rehasol’s fear of sharp and pointed things grew worse with each passing day.
Every weapon in Aksion’s residence was broken, and all sword training ceased. Not only the candlesticks on the table but also knives and forks were removed. They were desperate—searching for and eliminating anything with even the slightest edge or point.
“Sniff… sniff… What happened to my sister? She says she can’t even look at her own claws now. And her pretty fangs—she’s ground them down to dull stubs!”
Lira, who had been on the verge of tears, finally collapsed and sobbed uncontrollably.
There was no longer a perfect successor to Aksion.
All that remained was a pitiful child who trembled and convulsed at the sight of anything remotely sharp.
Harisa gently wrapped her arms around Lira’s shaking shoulders and comforted her.
“Let’s wait a little longer. Sol just needs time.”
“Sniff… time for what?”
“Even the strongest need time to overcome their fears.”
“Do you think… she’ll be able to overcome it, if enough time passes?”
Harisa’s lips moved faintly. She forced a smile for the children’s sake.
“Of course. Sol is strong.”
She would surely return to her old self—the flawless successor who led her siblings with grace and confidence.
Everyone believed that without question.
* * *
“…And that was ten years ago.”
Reed spoke softly as he caressed the sleeping Rehasol’s cheek. His touch was tender.
“We thought it was just temporary. We didn’t realize how deeply she was trapped in her pain, and we dared to assume she’d get over it.”
It was hard to say anything in response—no words of comfort, no hollow reassurance that things would get better, no empty promise that I could help.
“…Thank you for telling me all this.”
That was all I could say—to thank Reed for revisiting such a painful memory.
“Sol was a perfect successor. She was more than worthy of Aksion’s future. But after that day, she couldn’t even go near a sword—or even a candlestick.”
Reed bit his lip and covered his eyes.
“…It’s my fault. I was a child. I was too weak… and Sol got hurt because of me.”
“You’re saying that again.”
A quiet voice broke through. Rehasol had opened her eyes, gazing at Reed through half-lidded eyes.
“It’s been ten years. Don’t you think it’s time to stop?”
“Sister…”
“It’s embarrassing to think I’ve been the topic of conversation while I slept. What a pitiful sight I must have been.”
She pushed herself upright, leaning on Reed for support. Her hand was trembling slightly, still unsteady.
“Rehasol, don’t push yourself.”
“I’m fine now, Lord Ibnis.”
Ethan, who had been standing beside Eve, bowed politely.
“My rash behavior was discourteous to Lady Rehasol.”
“You did nothing wrong, Sir Croyt. The fault lies with my own weakness.”
“Sol! Don’t say that—”
“I’m tired. Forgive me, but could you all leave for now?”
Reed’s mouth closed. He nodded and quietly left the room.
“We’ll go too. Rest well.”
“I’ll take my leave.”
“Goodbye!”
Eve and Ethan exited first, followed by Loren, who hurried after them.
“…Why do you even need such tools?”
Rehasol’s voice stopped me just as I was about to leave.
She meant the scalpel and syringe I had used before she fainted.
“As I said earlier, they’re medical instruments—not weapons meant to harm anyone.”
“And how am I supposed to believe that? I don’t trust humans—least of all humans with blades in their hands.”
She clenched her teeth, her hostility unconcealed. No matter how many times I told her they weren’t weapons, she wouldn’t believe me.
“The only reason I haven’t thrown you out is because you’re one of Lord Raykis’s people. Let me make this clear: we have no need for such tools in Aksion.”
“But Lady Rehasol—”
“Please leave. I’m tired.”
She lay back down, pulling the blanket over her head. I bowed slightly toward the covered figure.
“Then I’ll take my leave.”
She gave no reply, even as I quietly closed the door behind me.
As I turned the corner toward my room, Reed’s voice came suddenly.
“Sorry.”
“…Have you done anything you need to apologize for, Lord Reed?”
“Not me—Sol. She gets very sensitive right after fainting. I’ve seen it before.”
He brushed the scar near his eye and gave a bitter smile. I could only guess what he’d endured over the past decade.
“I trust you.”
He must have overheard what Rehasol said earlier.
“Because I’m one of Lord Raykis’s followers?”
“Yeah. If he chose you, I believe in you. Sol seems to envy you, though…”
So it was jealousy. Her sharp words and cold glances suddenly made sense—rooted in admiration, and resentment, toward Raykis.
“Still, I hope you won’t hate her.”
I wondered what he was about to say—but his next words surprised me.
“I don’t. I never would. In fact, I want to help Lady Rehasol.”
“…Truly?”
“Yes. Living trapped in painful memories is hard—for the person suffering and for those watching.”
As I said that, I thought of Kinya, the little girl in the imperial palace—someone who had also recently gone through something she would never forget.
“I know someone like that. I just want her to let go of her pain.”
“Kinya was weak… couldn’t protect Linne…”
Perhaps it was because Reed’s trembling, guilt-ridden voice reminded me so much of her. He’d been blaming himself for ten long years, and it was heartbreaking to see.
“Phobias are a type of anxiety disorder.”
“Huh?”
“They can develop from neural dysfunction, but in Lady Rehasol’s case, the cause is clearly psychological. Medication wouldn’t help much. What she needs is behavioral therapy—gradual, consistent effort, with strong support from those around her.”
“If you tell me what to do, I’ll do it. Anything.”
“First—the table.”
“The table?”
“There’s nothing on it. You removed everything—forks, knives, even candlesticks, right?”
Reed nodded.
“Sol reacts strongly to anything sharp, so we cleared it all away.”
That was the problem. With no exposure to the stimulus, even the smallest trigger could cause a panic attack.
“Behavioral therapy begins by slowly exposing her to mild stimuli—something like a candlestick first. Then a fork, then a knife, increasing gradually.”
It was like desensitization training for a frightened animal—slow exposure to teach the mind that the stimulus isn’t dangerous.
“It’s important to start not in her room, but in shared spaces. Her room should remain her safe zone—somewhere she can retreat to whenever things get overwhelming.”
I felt a little guilty comparing her room to a kennel, but it was the best metaphor I had.
“So we start with the candlestick, right? Got it!”
“She might react strongly. It could take a long time.”
Behavioral therapy requires patience—from both the patient and the caregiver. But Reed didn’t seem daunted.
“That’s fine! I can do it for years if I have to. As long as Sol gets better, I can endure anything! I’ll put the candlestick on the table right now.”
“Place it where she can see it clearly, but not too close to her seat.”
“Understood!”
Reed’s enthusiasm was almost contagious.
“Human—Linnegrimm, was it?”
“Yes, Linnegrimm Feahil.”
“Thank you, Linnegrimm. It won’t be easy, but I’ll give it my best.”
“I hope Lady Rehasol overcomes it.”
“She will! Sol is strong!”
That evening, just as planned, a candlestick was placed on the dining table.
Soon after, Lira and Libel returned from their patrol in the snowy mountains.
“Good work, Lira, Libel.”
“Good work? It was just a few golems. What’s that, though?”
Lira pointed at the candlestick in the center of the table.
“You haven’t forgotten what happened ten years ago, have you? Whose idea was that? Our guests’?”
Her sharp gaze turned toward us. I happened to be seated directly across from her, which meant facing that fierce look head-on.
Then a hand suddenly blocked my view—Reed’s.
“I put it there.”
“What? Are you insane, brother?”
“No. I’m just trying something new for Sol’s sake. I already spoke with Father and Mother. It’s not up for debate.”
Lira turned to look at Jeron and Harisa. When they nodded, she frowned deeply but sat down without another word.
“You’re sure this will help her?”
“…Probably.”
“Then I’m in favor.”
Libel nodded too, pulling out a chair.
Everyone waited anxiously for Rehasol to appear.
Before long, she entered, her face pale but composed.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting. It’s rude to make our guests wait.”
“It’s fine, Sol. Please, sit.”
Her seat was next to Jeron, far from the candlestick—but her gaze remained fixed on it.
“…Why is there a candlestick without a candle?”
“Does it bother you, Sol? Should I move it?”
Lira shot up immediately, grabbing the candlestick. But Reed’s hand held it firmly in place.
The two siblings locked eyes in silent battle. Then Rehasol slowly shook her head.
“It’s fine. Leave it.”
“Sister… are you sure?”
“I’m fine, Lira. It’s just a candlestick.”
As Reed and Lira exchanged wary looks, I watched Rehasol closely—her eyes, her mouth, her hands.
No tremors. No visible anxiety.
“A good start,” I whispered to Reed. “That’s a relief.”
He smiled—bright and hopeful.
