As dawn broke the following day, from his bed, Ace stirred slowly, as if struggling to pull himself from the depths of his thoughts. He closed his eyes for a few moments, then let out a long exhale, as though trying to expel the remnants of the worries that had chased him through the night. Still, when he rose, no trace of anxiety marked his face; instead, a calm expression had settled upon it—one that seemed more like a surrender than a choice.
He moved across the room with silent steps, and as his hand reached for the doorknob, he paused. A soft sound—more like the whisper of dishes—drifted from the kitchen. He furrowed his brows in surprise. How had he not noticed her leaving the room? And how could she possibly be awake this early, given how exhausted she had been the night before? He gently pushed the door open, and the scent of toasted bread mingled with scrambled eggs reached him, preceded by a gentle warmth that seemed to reassure him before he even saw the scene before him. There, in the small kitchen, she stood—her face still bearing the traces of fatigue despite her attempt at a gentle smile.
"Good morning."
She greeted him upon seeing him. He couldn't miss the weariness that clung to her voice. Her face, which he had grown used to seeing radiant, had lost much of its usual glow. Yet still, she stood there, preparing breakfast as if it were nothing—like the night before hadn't been long and burdened with anxiety and fear.
A slight ache stirred in his chest. He wanted to tell her not to burden herself, that she deserved more sleep—at least a little rest. But before he could open his mouth, she spoke, almost as if she had read his thoughts before he voiced them. With quiet firmness, despite her exhaustion, she said:
"Breakfast will be ready soon."
He sat at the table, watching her as she moved with heavy motions to prepare the meal. It wasn't long before she placed a tray before him filled with toasted bread, fried eggs, a warm cup of milk, and a small bowl of sliced fruit. There was no need to read between the lines—everything was clear. This wasn't just a meal; it was a silent message, a gesture to make sure he had enough strength before heading off to the awaited task.
Her eyes were half-shut as she sat across from him. Seeing that, he couldn't help but say:
"You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble, especially when you're this tired."
She lifted her head toward him, her lips parting in a faint smile, as if seeking to comfort him despite her obvious fatigue.
"It wasn't any trouble… I can't let you leave here on an empty stomach. Home-cooked food is different… better than anywhere else."
He gazed at her for a moment longer, then turned his eyes to the food. It was simple, yet it carried a hidden warmth in its flavor, as though it wrapped itself around his heart, planting within it a feeling he couldn't quite name. He ate with an appetite he wasn't used to, as if trying to show his gratitude through that simple act. Only later did he notice she had served him four times more than she had served herself. As he ate, he was filled with a mix of gratitude and deep embarrassment. How could such a young girl possess such a sense of responsibility? How could she be so mature, while he—older than her—was still lost in hesitation before her kindness? In that moment, he realized one thing: this child, despite her youth, possessed a strength that could make even adults rethink themselves.
When they finished eating, Emilia began to gather the dishes, but he moved before she could. She looked at him for a moment, then gave in, watching him silently as he washed the dishes, her eyes gleaming with exhaustion laced with something resembling relief.
When he finished, the girl took a deep breath, as if readying herself for something important. She rose quietly and disappeared into her room, leaving Ace seated, staring at the door. The moment felt strange, as if something unspoken lingered between them. He waited patiently, wondering what she was doing.
Moments later, she returned carrying some clothes and a small wooden box that looked as if it held something precious. She carefully laid the clothes before him, then looked at him with a strange expression—a mixture of pride and nostalgia, as though she were reviving an old memory. Then, in a quiet voice heavy with the weight of years, she said:
"These belonged to my father… He wore them when he was an adventurer. The outfit offers great protection, durability, and freedom of movement. I believe it could be useful for your mission."
Ace stared at the clothes before him, as if he could feel the memories of a man he'd never met—yet somehow, they clung to him… in this fabric, in this place, and in the girl's eyes. He looked at her and smiled in gratitude, unable to find the right words. But she didn't seem to need them. She had already seen the emotion in his expression before he could speak.
"But… isn't this important to you? I can't take it. It might get ruined—like the last outfit you gave me."
Emilia slowly shook her head, rejecting his words. In her small eyes was a gentle insistence, as though she was pushing away any excuse he might offer to decline. She spoke in a warm but unwavering tone:
"Please, take it. Your safety means more to me than anything else."
She looked at the clothes for a moment and, with a tender smile, added:
"I'm sure my father would've done the same if he were in my place."
There was something in her voice—a trace of memory, a longing that still pulsed despite the passing years. Ace finally reached out his hand, as though afraid to taint such a legacy with his touch. He held the clothes carefully, his fingers grazing the sturdy fabric that seemed to hold untold stories, memories etched into its threads, undimmed by time. It wasn't just a garment—it was a piece of history that shouldn't be lost.
Then, Emilia moved quietly, opening the small wooden box with great care. She lifted the lid to reveal two familiar vials—one containing a crimson liquid that shimmered under the light, and the other a deep ocean-blue fluid. She looked at him with a faint smile and said:
"These potions will help you… the red one restores your physical energy, and the blue one enhances your magical strength. My parents never got the chance to use them… please take them. I'm sure they'll be useful to you."
Ace hesitated. He knew these weren't just items—they were remnants of a life long gone, things that tied Emilia to her parents. Memories she likely never wanted to part with. Yet she was willing to give them to him. He tried to refuse, but in her eyes, he saw a determination that couldn't be shaken, a sincere desire to help him. He couldn't bring himself to resist.
He slowly reached out and took the vials.
Moments later, Ace began putting on the outfit she had given him. The fabric was a deep navy blue, interwoven with smooth white lines that flowed like gentle waves. It was reinforced with small pieces of metal armor, giving it a dignified look. Once fully dressed, he felt like the outfit belonged to him—as if it weren't just clothing, but an extension of someone who no longer lived, yet remained present in that moment.
He moved slightly and found that the elastic fabric conformed to his body seamlessly, wrapping around him without restricting his motion, as if it had been made just for him. It was light but strong, highlighting his physique without making him uncomfortable.
When the girl saw him, her eyes widened with astonishment. For a moment, it seemed to her as if her father had returned—as if a part of him had come alive again before her. A spark lit up in her gaze, dispelling some of the worry and fatigue that weighed on her spirit. She knew, of course, that the man before her was someone else. But somehow, the soul felt familiar. She smiled—despite everything—finding a silent comfort in seeing Ace wear what once belonged to one of the dearest people in her life.
At the door, where the cold air crept inside, Ace stood ready to leave. The girl said nothing, but her eyes spoke volumes. They begged him to be careful, to return to her as he was—unharmed, unchanged. He smiled at her reassuringly, as if making a silent promise, then turned to go, leaving behind the warmth to face a perilous journey, leaving the girl at the threshold.
After just a few steps outside, she couldn't hold herself back. She felt as if something was being torn from her—a creeping sense of loss pressing on her chest, tightening her breath. She couldn't stop her feet as she rushed toward him, heedless of the cold biting at her skin. That feeling of loss clawed at her heart. She couldn't let him leave without expressing what was churning inside. She grabbed the back of his clothes tightly, as if trying to anchor him in place, to delay the inevitable goodbye for just one more moment.
With tears welling up in her eyes and a trembling voice that sounded like a desperate plea, she said:
"I know I shouldn't say this, but… is there really no other way?"
Ace felt the trembling of her small body pressed against his back. He turned around and gently placed his hand on her head. His warm palm, despite the cold weather, stroked her silky hair with tenderness. He bent down slightly to match her height, their eyes meeting. In that moment, he wasn't just a young man preparing to leave—he was like a father bidding farewell to his daughter on a cold morning, heading to a place she could not follow. His smile was calm, confident, filled with sincere faith that he would return.
Before that, the girl felt something warm seep into her heart. At last, she felt a measure of peace. She wiped her tears and let a gentle, confident smile bloom on her face. She nodded silently—a gesture of understanding and trust—then watched Ace Walk away, leaving behind a charged silence and an unspoken promise written in the air between them. With every step he took, it felt as if a part of her soul was being torn away, like she was leaving a piece of herself behind. She clasped her hands in front of her chest and whispered, barely audible among the soft sounds of the awakening town:
"May the Great Merlyn protect you."