Empires | Arc 2 | Chapter 7 | Making Amends

How much time has actually passed, no one can truly tell.

Around that localized water hole, the terrain now looks like a violent impact crater. Massive, jagged chunks of earth have been violently ripped from the ground, pointing up toward the sky like broken teeth. Every trace of vibrant green has been entirely wiped out from the area. The water hole, which was once so pristine that its core could be seen from the surface, is now so blurred that it looks as though someone has been dumping toxic industrial waste into it for years. Deep fissures and hollow pits pockmark the surrounding dirt. The ancient trees haven’t been uprooted; instead, they stand, but cleanly slashed in multiple places, bearing the unmistakable marks of razor-sharp blade cuts.

The air hangs thick, heavy with the suffocating scent of dust, adrenaline, and stale sweat.

In the dead center of the crater stands Leon. His clothing is completely shredded; his tank top barely hangs onto his torso by a few threads. His feet are entirely naked—somewhere during the grueling session, he tore his boots off, choosing to feel the raw texture of the dirt to sprint and pivot with maximum efficiency. Strands of wet hair cling wildly to his forehead, soaked in sweat. He is huffing violently, managing to stay on his feet none the less, but his torso is bent forward as he grips his waist with both hands, desperately trying to catch his breath.

A few meters opposite him stands Maven. Her posture remains remarkably pristine. She is also sweating, taking long, calculated breaths to mask her own shortness of breath, but unlike Leon, whose absolute physical exhaustion is completely transparent, she appears remarkably graceful despite the dust clinging to her skin.

It is her voice that finally breaks the tense, quiet atmosphere. “Twenty-three hours and forty-five minutes. Not bad, Leon.”

Leon forces his chest up, standing upright for a split second before the fatigue breaks him again. He leans forward, panting heavily. “Let’s go… Let’s go again, then.”

“Now wait a minute, you berserker!” Maven replies. There is a slight, playful warmth in her tone that wasn’t present during their previous encounters.

She turns her back to him, walking toward the nearby establishment where the temporary tents are pitched. “I don’t know about you, but I need a bath and some real food. And you?…..You need some stitches.”

Hearing her words, Leon finally looks down at his own body. It is entirely true. Unlike his previous catastrophic fight where his bones were shattered, today’s injuries consist of dozens of minor lacerations. To a normal human, these cuts would require immediate medical attention, but to him, they are just scratches.

“Fiiine,” Leon grunts, heavily trailing behind her in the same direction.

After scrubbed clean from her bath, Maven steps out to the front of the main tent.

Above, a brilliant full moon commands a vast, starry sky. On the ground at the center of the camp, a roaring fire crackles, casting long shadows. Freshly cooked meat has been prepared and laid out across a simple, rectangular wooden table flanked by benches—a minimalist and practical setting.

Maven looks almost angelic in the firelight. Her damp hair has been pulled up into a loose, messy bun, and she wears an oversized tee, comfortable pants, and simple slippers—a massive, jarring departure from her tactical gear.

She pauses, noticing Leon is already seated at the table. He is completely stitched up, but he isn’t eating. He is just staring blankly into the dancing flames, completely zoned out. From the moment Maven first met him, this is the absolute first time she has ever seen him like this. Most of the time, he is in constant motion, fighting, or dead asleep. It is almost as if he is genuinely thinking.

Intrigued, Maven moves around his back, toward his right side without making a single sound. Leaning in close, directly against his ear, a gesture that reveals a rare, unconscious flash of her own hidden femininity.

She whispers, “What are you thinking?”

Zen might be a discipline Leon has successfully mastered for his fights, but at this moment when he is zoned out, his raw killer instincts instantly flare. His left hand snaps up violently, sliding across his chest in a lightning-fast reflex to crush the whisperer’s throat. But the exact millisecond the familiar cadence of her voice registers in his brain, his fingers freeze. His hand stops mere inches away from actually grabbing Maven‘s throat.

He exhales sharply, lowering his arm. “DON’T DO THAT… EVER!”

Maven isn’t offended in the slightest. She lets out a bright, genuine laugh, standing up straight, before walking around him and taking the opposite seat. As the local camp attendants serve the food— plates of roasted meat and fresh water—Maven leans her elbows on the wood. “So, what were you really thinking?”

Leon casually picks up a piece of meat, taking a heavy bite. “Umm… I was thinking about when you were gonna tell me that you’re royalty.”

Maven’s hands instantly freeze over her plate and glass. Her serene focus snaps entirely onto his face, her expression turning uncharacteristically unnerved. She takes a slow, grounding breath to compose herself before speaking. “How did you know?”

Leon flashes a slight smirk. Getting a genuine reaction out of the famously unflappable Maven is a reward all on its own.

“Well, remember the first time I bowed to you and you explicitly told me not to do that?” Leon says, chewing casually. “That was the first clue. No ordinary person detests traditions and etiquette that much unless they’ve faced them intimately and decided to avoid them on purpose.” He waves a hand toward the surrounding tents. “Plus, the locals around here told me how you just randomly appeared one day, carrying belongings and items that are incredibly common among the Head Family of Royal City.”

Leon gulps down his food, looking directly at her. “But hey, at first, I had zero clue… but I could literally smell something different on you. The etiquette is in your blood. Look at me—even if you spend years teaching me, I’ll never possess that kind of grace. Buy you, you simply have that royal presence.”

Maven stares at him throughout his explanation, entirely stunned, before bursting into a loud, wistful laugh. Seeing her look so deeply vulnerable, Leon looks thoroughly taken aback. For a man of his background, genuine, relaxed interactions with women are severely limited.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Leon mutters, suddenly looking incredibly shy and embarrassed because he made a girl laugh. He shifts his focus back to his plate. “I only said it because we’ve been together out here for a long time, and we never talked about anything else other than training. And while I love the work… you seemed like you wanted to…” He looks up from his plate to her eyes and says “You know, talk.”

The last part comes out of a place of emotional maturity that even Leon didn’t know he possessed, so he again quickly buries his face in his food.

Seeing his clumsy sincerity, and perhaps because she has been dying to speak about the weight of her past to someone who wouldn’t judge her, Maven seizes this single shred of an opening.

“My father wooed the Lady of Royal City, making her fall completely in love with him back in the day,” Maven says quietly. She keeps her eyes locked on her plate, deliberately avoiding eye contact. After a heavy pause, she continues. “But because of the politics, I could never be legally claimed as a Lady to the public. So, the moment I was born, my father abandoned his old ways of traveling, gave up everything a man of his status does, took me, and went to…”

She leaves the sentence completely unfinished. She drinks her full glass of water, then looks Leon dead in the eye, finding nothing but absolute, non-judgmental attention.

“He raised me,” she says, her voice steady but raw. “I am a bastard, Leon. An illegal child. Perhaps even the living sin of the Lady and my father.”

Leon listens to the confession, and his protective instincts instantly kick in. “Well, you possess the bloodline of a royal and the absolute strength of a powerful fighter. In short, I don’t see a sin. I see a perfectly sharp blade.”

To anyone else, his words might sound like a clumsy attempt at sympathy.

But to Leon, it isn’t pity—it is the highest form of recognition he can offer. And it is exactly the acknowledgment Maven has been starved of her entire life.

A massive smile breaks across her face—so wide and genuine that a few teardrops escape from the corners of her eyes. “You truly can’t think of anything other than fighting and weapons, can you?”

Leon twists his lips into a smirk. “Pretty much!”

Maven smiles softly, leaning back. “You know, if you fully master the Zen state, you might become exactly like him.”

Leon, currently chewing on a massive piece of chicken, stops. He leans forward, his curiosity piqued as a hint of his old arrogance flashes in his eyes. “Who? Your father?”

Maven shakes her head. “No. His protégé. Though, I suppose ‘adopted son’ is the more accurate word.”

Leon stops chewing entirely, leaning in closer. “Tell me about him.”

Maven smirks, looking up at the starry sky, her eyes reflecting a distant memory. “Well… he was my father’s absolute carbon copy. He respected nothing but strength, he was ruthlessly pragmatic, and entirely self-serving. At least, most of the time. He was overtly territorial over the things he considered his own.”

She pauses, her expression softening. “But the one thing that made him worse—or perhaps superior—to even my father, was his origins. My father had me. But he? He had absolutely no one. He was alone, rejected by the world, yearning to belong somewhere… anywhere. But he was cast out until my father finally took him in. Seeing him back then, I felt like all he ever truly wanted was for someone to love him for who he actually is… when he takes off his mask. But no one ever did.”

Leon cuts her off completely, entirely impatient. He doesn’t care about the emotional trauma; he only cares about the power this individual possesses. So he asks, “How strong is he?”

Broken out of her deep nostalgia by his loud voice, Maven blinks. “Huh? Really?” She lets out a dry hum, pondering the question before answering. “Well, I haven’t seen him in a very long time. But when we were training… a simple flicker from his wrist could cut down an ancient tree into slices.” She sighs deeply. “If I were a betting, I would dare to say he is the absolute pinnacle of what an internalized Heat user can be.”

Leon‘s eyes narrow. “What do you mean? Internalized Heat?”

“Like you,” Maven explains, pointing a finger at his chest. “You guys do not project or manifest five-dimensional energy externally into blades like I do. You internalize the energy, forcing the power directly into your own muscle fibers and skeletal structure.”

Leon asks the only question that matters to him: “Is he stronger than me, then?”

Maven gives him a wise, knowing smile. “Such a simple question… but the answer is anything but. In terms of pure, raw strength? Absolutely. He outclasses you. But in a real fight, raw power is not the only variable. Emotions play a vital, volatile role. He possesses absolutely none. But you, Leon…” She reaches across the wooden table, gently placing her hand over his hand. “…you have plenty of it. The drive to be the best. The burning need to prove your worth to yourself and no one else. And the instinct to protect the people you care about.”

Leon, acknowledging her assessment with a quiet nod of respect, doesn’t back down. “You still didn’t answer the question.”

She smiles, pulling her hand back as she stands up from the bench. “Well… you’ll just have to challenge him to figure that out for yourself, Leon.”

With that, she turns and leaves the table. Leon sits alone, turning his gaze back to the crackling fire, his voice a low, burning whisper. “I will. One day, I promise.”

---

It is the exact same moon, accompanied by the same glowing stars maintaining their rigid positions in the vast sky, glowing brightly above the sprawling skyline of Titan City.

In her private quarters, out on the open balcony, Lesca stands quietly combing her hair. Her gaze is fixed entirely on the full moon.

A soft, familiar knock echoes against the wood of her bedroom door, followed by Friling‘s voice. “Are you awake, sister?”

Lesca doesn’t turn around. She simply continues drawing the comb through her hair, her voice characteristically aloof. “Come in, Friling.”

Friling peeks his head in first, then slowly enters, closing the door softly behind him. He walks out onto the balcony, joining her, on her left side. After a long, heavy moment of silence, he looks up at the sky, mimicking her gaze. “Still thinking about him?”

Lesca turns on him with lightning speed, her expression instantly defensive. “Who? That brainless brute? Absolutely not! I was thinking about… you.” She aggressively points her comb directly at his chest. “Umm… how are your wings healing?”

Friling breaks into a knowing smile, watching his normally aloof, detached little sister behave exactly like a girl her own age. “You tried so hard, yet the only thing you could manage to ask was a question intimately relating to him.”

Lesca‘s face instantly flushes a deep, noticeable red. It is entirely true—the pain of Friling‘s wing being torn off, and the memory of Taglia‘s brutal action to rip it off, are linked in her mind. She finally looks down at the balcony floor, letting out a heavy sigh before turning her eyes back to the stars.

Friling stands firmly beside her, his voice incredibly gentle. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with love, sister… nothing at all. Even if it is with, as you so eloquently put it, ‘an asshole.'”

Lesca breaks into a sudden laugh—the helpless, overwhelmed kind. “You are truly something else, brother.”

“We both are, sister. And in some ways, you are far more than me,” Friling replies softly.

He reaches out, his hand gently resting against the back of her head. In the moonlight, his expression turns solemn as he delivers a confession. “I know I abandoned you when you needed me the most. And I know that night, you did everything, for my sake. It was because you couldn’t bear to see me get hurt.”

Lesca‘s head snaps toward him, her eyes wide with sudden shock.

Friling continues, his eyes growing glassy, his voice trembling as he fights to hold himself together. “But back then… I was young, weak, and terrified. When our parents turned into those bloody red skeletons, and I witnessed you doing all of that… to them” He cuts himself off, taking a sharp breath as tears begin to pool. “Since that night, you have carried all of that by yourself. And you never once resented me for locking myself away. You never blamed me for abandoning you.”

Lesca’s vision blurs with unshed tears. Her hands reache out automatically, gripping Friling’s sleeve.

“And then, he came along,” Friling whispers, a tear finally sliding down his cheek. “Taglia saw you. He looked at your truest form and did what I never had the courage to do. You have every right to think about him, Lesca. After all, he accepted you for your darkness… where I failed you, despite being your own brother.”

Lesca stands frozen for a single, breathless second. Then, her emotional armor completely shatters.

She leaps forward, violently slamming her forehead against her brother’s chest, and begins weeping loudly. Her entire body shakes with violent, convulsive sobs. She buries her face into his jacket, her fingers gripping the fabric with white-knuckled strength, just to hold herself upright.

Friling wraps his arms tightly around her, gently caressing her hair as a continuous stream of tears drops from his own eyes. He lets out a soft, watery chuckle against her head. “And look at it this way… it won’t be so bad to have a man around who can take the full force of your bossiness, so I finally get to experience all the non-bossy parts.”

Lesca forces her face up, her face a beautiful, tear-stained mess. She plants a light, affectionate pinch on her brother’s arm, her voice cracking with her usual arrogance. “I will do a lot more than just be bossy if I ever meet him again, brother… I promise you.”

She turns her eyes back to the glowing moon.

Thinking back to that bloody night, she finally accepts the truth in her heart completely. In that single blood and scream soaked night, a monster had actually healed another monster. Taglia had saved her by simply acknowledging her truest, ugliest self without a single flinch of disgust—an acceptance that had been denied to him throughout his own entire life.