The council had ended. The generals and advisors filed out of the hall, their voices low and subdued, their faces grim. Corbin’s betrayal had shaken everyone, but what shocked them even more was how the Guardian had exposed him — without magic, without interrogation, without torture. Simply with knowledge.
Amanda walked down the corridor, her footsteps ringing against the stone tiles. She had not put her helmet back on. After removing it in front of the council, hiding her face no longer seemed necessary. Her scarlet eyes looked straight ahead, but her thoughts were far away.
“Lady Guardian.”
The voice was quiet, almost a whisper. Amanda stopped. She recognized it. Not immediately. Her memory pulled the name slowly from the depths, dragging up something she had tried to forget.
“Yui.”
The girl stood in a niche by the window, leaning against the wall. She wore a simple gray dress — nothing like the finery she had once worn. Her hair, once glossy and well-kept, was pulled back into a tight, severe bun. Her face was pale, with dark shadows under her eyes. And one eye… one eye was covered by a bandage.
Amanda froze. She remembered. She remembered the night they had brought Yui to the palace — beaten, broken, barely alive. She remembered Randel carrying her in his arms. She remembered the healers taking her away.
“Lady Yui,” Amanda said, her voice steady. “You… you should still be in the infirmary.”
“They discharged me,” Yui replied softly, without defiance. Without the arrogance Amanda remembered from the ball. “Three days ago.”
She looked at Amanda. Her one remaining eye — a deep, almost black blue — was calm.
“I wanted…” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I wanted to apologize.”
Amanda had not expected that.
“I was a fool,” Yui continued, her voice trembling. “I thought the whole world revolved around me. That I was entitled to everything. That people were just things. I insulted you. I hated you. I wanted… I wanted to destroy you.”
She fell silent. Her fingers twisted the hem of her dress.
“And then they came,” she went on, her voice growing quieter. “My people were dying. My father… my father burned in the castle. I saw it. I saw everything I knew, everything I was proud of, crumble to ash.”
She raised a hand to her bandage.
“And then they took me. And I finally understood that I was nothing. That all my titles, my beauty, my pride — they were dust. That I was just a thing. Something that could be broken. Discarded. Killed.”
Amanda looked at her, and something inside her tightened.
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“I thought I was going to die,” Yui said, staring into empty space. “I prayed. Not to the gods — I never believed in them. I just prayed… that someone would come. That someone would save me. That I wouldn’t be alone.”
She turned her gaze to Amanda, tears glistening in her one remaining eye.
“And he came. One of Randel’s scouts. Old Viggo. He carried me through the forest while they chased us. He kept saying, ‘Hold on, girl. We’re almost there.’”
Her voice cracked.
“I didn’t know people like that existed. I didn’t know someone would risk their life for… for someone like me. For a person who had never helped anyone. Who had only ever taken.”
She fell silent. In the quiet corridor, only her breathing could be heard.
“I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” Yui continued. “I don’t deserve it. I just want you to know… I’ve changed.”
She paused for a moment.
“I saw you walking through the city. I saw how people looked at you. How they believed in you. And I realized — you’re not a goddess. You’re just… a person who does what needs to be done. Someone who isn’t afraid. Someone who keeps moving forward even when it’s terrifying.”
She clenched her fists.
“I want to be like that. Not to win Randel back. Not to regain my old position. Just… to be worthy of what Viggo risked for me. To be worthy of what you showed me — what real strength can look like.”
Amanda studied her. This girl who had once been proud, arrogant, and cruel. Now she stood before her — broken, but not completely shattered.
“You don’t owe me anything,” Amanda said. “I didn’t save you. I didn’t even know—”
“You did save me,” Yui shook her head. “Not just me. All of us. You showed that even when it seems like everything is over, someone will come. Someone who won’t give up. There is hope.”
She smiled. It was a weak smile, but genuine.
“I want to learn that. If you’ll allow me.”
Amanda looked at her for a long time. A very long time.
“You will learn,” she said softly. “I can’t teach you. It’s not something that can be taught. It’s something that comes on its own. When you lose everything. When you understand that titles, wealth, and power don’t matter. What matters are the people beside you. And the choices you make every single day.”
Yui looked at her, and a small spark lit up in her eyes.
“I’ll try,” she said.
“That’s enough,” Amanda replied.
They stood in the corridor — two women whom fate had once made enemies, and war had turned into sisters in pain. In that silence there was something greater than forgiveness. There was understanding.
“Your eye…” Amanda began.
“Don’t,” Yui touched the bandage. “This is a reminder. Of who I was. Of what I lost. Of who I never want to be again.”
She smiled.
“Let it stay. As a warning.”
She turned and walked away, leaving Amanda alone in the corridor.
Amanda watched her go, and a strange, warm feeling bloomed inside her chest. She didn’t know if she had done the right thing. She didn’t know if she could trust Yui. But she knew one thing — this girl had truly changed. Not because someone had saved her, but because she had walked through hell and emerged as someone different.
“You’re getting soft,” Torglin’s voice came from nowhere.
Amanda startled.
“You’re here?”
“Always,” the dwarf appeared out of invisibility, his face serious. “You did the right thing.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m old,” Torglin smirked. “I’ve seen many wars. Many deaths. Many who broke… and many who became stronger. That girl… she didn’t break. She grew stronger.”
Amanda looked at him in surprise.
“You’re a philosopher,” she said.
“I’m a dwarf,” he corrected. “It’s the same thing.”
They both laughed. And in that laughter there was a lightness that hadn’t been there that morning.
“Come on,” Torglin said. “They’re waiting for us. And your Randel is probably already getting impatient.”
“He’s not mine,” Amanda said, but her voice sounded uncertain.
“Of course,” the dwarf smirked. “Of course not.”
They walked down the corridor, and Amanda felt something new growing inside her. Not fear. Not doubt. Hope.
“Maybe,” she thought, “maybe I’m not here for nothing. Maybe my role isn’t to be a goddess. Maybe it’s just to be human… and to help others be human too.”
She smiled. And stepped into the new day.