13 – Regret

Unlike marriage, engagement, though significant, wasn’t an irreversible choice.

Unlike a marriage, which officially proclaimed the bond.

Engagement was merely an act announcing what would be.

Therefore, even if an engagement were broken for some reason,

It wasn’t often formally announced, nor were acts or procedures carried out for it.

‘In my case, it was more than just a promise between Elysea and me.’

It was a promise between families, so it was better to handle it smoothly, they said.

Was it because I felt a deep sense of disillusionment with Elysea and the North?

Now, I felt no emotion or interest in the North, so I simply nodded, impassively, in agreement.

‘That’s probably for the best.’

If I were to demand a vengeful end, instead of smooth conclusion, a war of public opinion that only argued for denial would begin.

That was merely an act of trying to put the other party down, proclaiming oneself to be more righteous.

No matter the outcome, there would be no benefit, and only my reputation would be diminished, so I decided there was no need to do it.

‘There’s no need to do anything so worthless.’

So, I nodded at the Head’s words and said I would comply.

When I said I would let it pass easily, the Head looked at me again, as if surprised.

Perhaps pleased by my reaction, he added one more thing.

“If you wish, I can find you a new betrothal candidate.”

I gave an awkward smile at the mention of a new betrothal and shook my head in refusal.

“I’m sorry.”

* * *

Leaving the Head’s office, I immediately headed to where ‘Ciren’ was likely to be.

There was no particular reason; it was simply impolite to invite (kidnap) someone to my house and then leave them unattended.

So, it was while I was scouting around for her, checking the places she might be.

“Your hair is incredibly beautiful. What’s your secret?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Born with it, huh… I envy you.”

I could hear Lorraine and Siren chatting in the park.

‘Have they become friends already?’ I thought, moving towards them. I then noticed Siren clinging to Lorraine like a cat, being ‘groomed’ with a brush.

‘…How peculiar.’

The Siren described in the original story was cruel, portrayed as a killing machine incapable of understanding human emotions.

But the Siren before me bore no resemblance to that description, just a devastatingly beautiful girl.

I watched, somewhat fascinated, as the spirit of the sun, who usually resides in my arms, slipped onto my shoulder and began barking ‘myang myang’ at Siren.

Could it be because Siren was experimented on by black mages?

Or because she was born from, and fed on, the negativity of so many?

Whatever the reason, the sun spirit clearly didn’t like Siren, expressing its hostility with ‘myang myangs.’

I stroked the spirit’s head to calm it down, then approached Siren.

“…Ah!”

As I got closer, Siren latched onto me just like the first time we met.

Because there were so many eyes watching, I tried to pry her off, but she clung to me with an iron grip as if determined never to let go, so I gave up and simply left her be.

‘Better than her being hostile, I guess…’

Considering the dignity and power a great mage possesses, it would be better to cultivate goodwill.

So I soothed the spirit on my shoulder, who continued to bark ‘myang myang’ at Siren, telling her to go away.

“Are you feeling any better?” I asked Siren.

At my question, she glanced up at my face and then quietly nodded.

Then, in a small voice, she told me, “It’s warm… I’m okay now.”

It wasn’t an answer I understood, but what mattered was that she said she was okay.

With a pat on her head to signify that was good enough, I paused, deep in thought.

‘It’s better to keep her with me for now.’

If I carelessly sent her away from the mansion, and she were caught by the black mages again, it would escalate into a significant problem.

It seemed better to keep her with me until she stabilized.

The problem, however, was that though we’d only just met, she displayed a possessiveness toward me I couldn’t quite comprehend.

I reasoned that this dependence was like a newly hatched chick imprinting on the first thing it saw, mistaking it for its mother.

Perhaps, after enduring such prolonged suffering, she saw me, her rescuer, as something akin to a maternal figure.

I decided it was simply because her mind was still fragile.

Just as a chick matures and develops independence, I figured Siren would naturally outgrow her reliance once her mental state stabilized. So, for now, I decided to let it be.

*

Siren, the archmage, born from swallowing the despair of thousands – the very worst of curses made manifest.

In the original story, Siren was a powerful antagonist, strong enough to lead the protagonist’s party to ruin.

Because of this, her descriptions focused more on her strength than on who she was as a person.

They might mention her goals and beliefs, but never delved into human details like what she liked or disliked, what her favorite foods were.

So I felt utterly lost as to how to treat her.

‘Should I just… be nice to her?’

… I didn’t know.

If I recalled those relationship advice shorts I had watched, it was said that being *too* nice was a bad thing.

But some relationship blog I stumbled upon argued that those types of people should be weeded out, and therefore, you should be nice to them. I was at a loss.

So, I cautiously patted Siren’s head, waiting for her to calm down. That’s when Lorraine, standing nearby, cleared her throat with a subtle *’ahem’* and offered a suggestion in a soft voice.

“Young Master, since Miss Siren is new, how about we all have a cup of tea together?”

I chuckled softly at her suggestion and nodded.

I’d made a promise to Lorraine back in the sewers, and one of tea’s benefits was mental recuperation. Perhaps it could help.

“I practically live for this tea these days,”

I left the visibly delighted Lorraine to her joy, and turned to Siren, still clinging to me, and held out a cup of tea.

“Would you like to try some?”

She tentatively nodded, carefully accepting the cup.

Even held within the teacup it must’ve been hot, yet she gripped it in her hands as if she preferred it that way, as if she cherished the heat and drank.

“…Warm,”

With that simple declaration.

Siren continued to sip the warm tea, a small smile gracing her lips.

* * * * *

Elsewhere, Elysia stood in the bitter cold, glaring at the hallucinations that tormented her, her brow furrowed in a deep frown.

[Had you only made the right judgment, our family could have survived.]

Since the snow began anew in the North, the hallucinations and phantom sounds that had long tormented me returned.

Despite remedies and magical treatments sought to quell them, they only sharpened, never fading.

I desperately yearned for the tea Damian had brewed, the only thing that ever eased these symptoms…

Though I tasted and scrutinized hundreds of teas.

Not only could I not find a tea that replicated its effects, but not even one that approached its caliber.

And so, my lips grew parched, my once-lustrous hair became brittle, and heavy shadows, betraying a deep fatigue, clung to the skin beneath my eyes.

One does not call the living a corpse, but when I saw my own state, as good as dead, I could not help but feel like one.

‘No, perhaps a corpse is better. At least a corpse does not see hallucinations.’

And so, thinking a corpse the better fate, I offered a hollow laugh.

Just then, I noticed the snow, which had been scattering lightly, was intensifying outside.

It had been long since the snow fell with such brutal force.

But I knew all too well the consequences it wrought, and my breath caught in my throat.

Countless souls, unable to venture out, would starve.

Under the guise of efficiency, parents would steal food from their starving children.

Someone’s death would become commonplace – the endless blizzard.

My mind swirled, confusion escalating.

A fierce headache seized me, and the hallucinations before me sharpened, screaming.

[Du-, Duchess! The children are starving. I beg you, just this once, help us!]

As I felt despair crash over me, struggling to breathe, a throng of people burst into my office, sounding the alarm.

‘Pull yourself together…’

If I crumbled now, everyone would die.

And so, resolving to hold onto my sanity and press on, I led the many toward the conference hall when,

“Du-, Duchess! The children are starving! Please, just this once, help us!”

A woman, her face ashen, clutching a child, rushed into the manor, slamming her head on the floor, begging for aid.

Her words, so identical to those from the past, as if deliberately echoing, paralyzed me. I could only stare, blank.

Those around me, their faces grim, spoke thus:

“It is pitiable, but we cannot help. The moment word spreads that we have helped, it will create a question of fairness. Further, many will make unreasonable demands of the family for assistance.”

“Duchess, make a rational decision. A flawed judgment will doom us all.”

And so, as they had done in the past, they insisted the woman be cast out, summoning soldiers to drag the wailing woman back into the freezing cold.

Seeing all this unfold, I couldn’t help but confront one question.

… What has changed since that day?

The moment I realized that despite all my efforts, nothing had shifted, despair crashed in, choking my breath.

I discarded the inefficient, moved forward, again and again, for the sake of change, yet the question of whether it was truly right barged in.

Nothing changes, no matter what I do.

As I forced strained breaths, mimicking the act of retching, a thought blossomed, unbidden, in my mind.

If Damian had been here, would this situation be different?