Hylan remembered that the wedding between Hilsbeth and Phipin lasted less than twenty minutes. It took place in Phipin's room. The gravely ill groom lay in bed, with Hilsbeth sitting beside him, holding his hand. Hylan, acting as the officiant, recited a prayer and declared them husband and wife. They exchanged rings. She kissed him. Less than ten seconds after their lips parted, Koen, who had been silently standing at the door, waved his hand, signaling the servants to take the bride away. Phipin required twenty-four-hour professional care and did not need a frail wife who was still recovering from her own trauma.
What he remembered even more vividly was the couple's tightly clasped hands and the look in their eyes. Although this was something against both their wills, there was no resentment between them. They seemed like the last two strangers on a sinking ship, not yet engulfed by the storm, willing to share what little courage remained. Hylan believed that at that moment, Phipin had finally grown up. He had once fantasized about resisting his father through a hopeless love; now, with his father willingly giving him the bride, that one-sided love vanished, and another, more mature feeling grew in its place—the ability to see and understand the suffering of others. Hilsbeth' gaze was calm, and Hylan almost couldn't resist misinterpreting it as her actually looking forward to this moment for her peace of mind.
For the next three months, the couple lived in separate rooms, meeting briefly only at breakfast. Before Hilsbeth suffered an unexpected attack, Hylan had told her that the doctors predicted Phipin had less than six months to live, but in reality, that day came even sooner. Phipin's funeral was nearly as quiet as the wedding. Of his four sisters, only two attended; mainly because Koen had not informed anyone. Hylan finally understood that Koen's overprotection of Phipin in the past was not out of fatherly love, but a self-preservation measure—he did not want a son doomed to have no future to bring him unnecessary harm. However, Hylan still didn't understand when Koen's fatherly love had faded. Searching his memories, he clearly remembered scenes where the Duke patiently taught his son to ride; arranged grand birthday parties, treating his son's few friends with kindness; and frowned in worry over his son's frailty. He also remembered how, after he had rescued Phipin from a fire, he won Koen's unreserved gratitude. It was from that moment on that Hylan decided to be loyal to Koen. Perhaps, Phipin had never truly survived that fire. He finally turned to ashes, as he wished.
After the funeral, Koen relaxed his control over Hilsbeth somewhat, allowing Hylan to start communicating with her. Compared to before, Hilsbeth had developed a clear sense of caution towards him. This was understandable, as even Hylan did not know what role he was playing. He only knew that forcing Hilsbeth to come to this mansion was a mistake, and he had facilitated its formation. He subtly inquired if she had any other relatives; based on her answers, Hylan thought she could at least lead a stable life here. He didn't discuss with her matters that were beyond change, only tried to make her living conditions as comfortable as possible, forcing himself to forget the fact that a prison, even with luxurious carpets, was still a prison.
After months of effort, Hylan felt he could call himself Hilsbeth' friend. To him, it was an awkward term. As a clergyman, he usually sought deep connections with others through religion, while the term "friend" was too secular. However, since he had almost become Hilsbeth' only stable link to the outside world, this term now seemed overly optimistic. At first, he recommended many books for her to pass the time, but this required too much verbal communication, which was inconvenient for her, so he often played chess with her instead. Hilsbeth' chess skills improved quickly; being a person who relied too much on the few strategies he had learned from books, Hylan gradually found himself overwhelmed.
She indeed enjoyed playing chess. She placed the decisive piece, mouthed the word "checkmate," and then smiled victoriously at Hylan. Accompanying the motion of her lips, her throat emitted faint, incomplete syllables, as if the word "checkmate" had rusted and soaked in seawater. The joy of victory made her unable to resist voicing her celebration, even though it would expose her most painful scars. Hylan could see Hilsbeth' voice—this voice that could comfort others both in the Queens' Quarter and the cathedral—struggling not to disappear. At such times, if he had the time, Hylan would suggest another game. Her voice pained him, but he couldn't avoid it.
Shawltly before Hilsbeth was due to give birth, Hylan approached Koen, intending to discuss the child's upbringing and education. Only then did he learn that these matters had long been decided.
"The child will be sent to Panthonia as soon as it's born," Koen said.
"Why?" Hylan asked.
"No need for a reason. Everything has already been arranged."
"Mrs. Hilsbeth needs her child."
"How do you know? I don't care what she 'said' to you, Hylan. Do you expect me to spend money raising a child for Panthonia? I won't do such a ridiculous thing. And let me remind you, no one knows she had a child, understood?"
Of course, Hylan understood. Hilsbeth was Phipin's widow, and she had no connection to Panthonia Shawl. He had indeed not discussed this matter with Hilsbeth and should not make decisions for her; he had already noticed from daily life that Hilsbeth had long known the direction of things.
To maintain secrecy, Koen temporarily rented a house in the city, had Hilsbeth move in, and hired a doctor to deliver the baby. This time, Koen did not consult Hylan or let him get involved. On that day, Hylan was extremely anxious, even taking leave from the church for the first time in years. He could not predict what might happen. Merely handing over the baby might not be the most significant change compared to other possibilities.
A few days later, the servants brought Hilsbeth back to the mansion after she had given birth. The sudden flatness of her abdomen made her appear even more frail. Hylan knew only one thing: the baby was not with her. It was as if all the pain and burden of pregnancy had never occurred. It was as if she had never become a mother.
Some time later, news spread that Panthonia Shawl had a son. No one mentioned who the mother was; most people believed he was adopted. Hylan felt it was time to talk to Hilsbeth about this, so he went to her room.
"Many people already know," he said. "Panthonia Shawl has a son."
"His name is Dean Shawl." After a pause, he added.
Hilsbeth, who had been gazing out the window, turned her head towards him. Hylan felt she wasn't looking at him, but at something hidden within his words. Her gaze was calm and mysterious, beyond her age, like that of a prophet who could foresee the rise and fall of tides over a century. Then, she wrote a sentence in her usual notebook and handed it over. Hylan hesitated before taking it and reading it.
"I named him."
Hylan looked up; Hilsbeth was already gazing out the window again. He gave up speculating about what had happened during those few days. He believed that in this matter, he should be content with being an outsider.
"It's a good name, Mrs. Hilsbeth," he said.
The following years passed in relative peace. After major events had concluded, whether out of a sense of loss or fatigue, people tended to adapt to life more willingly. Koen gradually got used to ignoring Hilsbeth, leaving her daily life to be managed by Hylan as long as she didn't leave the house. Hilsbeth, who had once lived alone in the Queens' Quarter and planned to raise a child by herself, began to grow weary of being overly cared for once she had mostly recovered her health. She started doing housework, washing and drying her own clothes, cooking, and tending to the plants, as long as Koen didn't find out. The servants gradually grew accustomed to her overstepping her bounds. Sometimes, upon learning that Koen had returned, they would immediately inform Hilsbeth, who was watering plants in the garden, so she could quickly return to her room, lie down, and pretend she hadn't moved all day. Hylan's burden was lightened; he hoped she could truly get through this ordeal. Over time, Hylan noticed that Koen began to turn a blind eye to Hilsbeth' actions, giving him more reason to imagine a stable future.
— Koen relinquished his control over her. She could meet her son. And Panthonia...
The slight knowledge of Panthonia was not enough for Hylan to make predictions. But at least, he used the name she gave him. This was a good sign.
During that time, Hylan found himself caring about worldly matters for the first time. He understood that something correct was guiding his soul, and this was something that did not need to be confirmed by ancient texts or classical references. In his eyes, true bliss was the blessing of divine light, representing tolerance and forgiveness of one's own suffering, constant questioning of morality, and endless pursuit of justice; but for Hilsbeth, he only hoped she would have worldly happiness—more natural smiles.
One hot afternoon, Koen returned to the estate, gloomily announced that he would see no one, then entered his study, emerging only at dinnertime. Since Pippin's death, Hylan was the only person left to dine with Koen. At the dinner table, Hylan sensed something was amiss.
"Where is Hilsbeth?" Koen asked.
"In her room," Hylan replied.
"All day?"
"I was at the church in the morning, so I am not sure, My Lord."
"That woman... you have been too lenient with her lately."
Koen then muttered something in a low voice that Hylan could not make out and did not respond, as Koen began stuffing food into his mouth and took a large gulp of wine. This was his habitual gesture to avoid further conversation at the table.
Near the end of the meal, Koen spoke again.
"Unbelievable."
"What happened, My Lord?"
"I said unbelievable. Those scoundrels in the council..."
"I must remind you, such language is inappropriate."
"What do you know?" Koen did not raise his voice or look at Hylan. "To bypass me... to meet Panthonia. They all forgot who is the master here. A bunch of treacherous scoundrels..."
After dinner, Hylan understood that he should leave Koen alone and returned to his room. Since hearing Pan Sonya's name, unease had enveloped him. He almost forgot that Panthonia was the key to Sibyl's future. Over the years, Koen had not actively created conflicts with his former protegé, but this did not mean he would not react to unexpected situations.
Hylan paced back and forth in his room, considering whether he should make contact with Panthonia to understand his current situation and intentions. Twenty minutes later, a maid stumbled down the corridor and knocked urgently on his door. After a brief conversation with the anxious maid, he rushed to Sibyl's room.
The door was tightly locked. The maid also had a key, but apparently, she was too afraid to intervene on her own, so she called Hylan. Hylan took out the key and, after the anxious sounds from inside made him nervous, finally managed to insert it into the lock on the second attempt.
Upon opening the door, Hylan saw Koen pinning Hilsbeth to the bed, his left hand gripping her throat while his right hand held her left ankle, which he was using to kick her. Sibyl's dress was torn on the left side, exposing her waist and thigh.
"You filthy whore, I have cared for you for so long," Koen shouted at her. "Do not resist me. No one can resist me."
Hylan's body went rigid. His mind knew what was happening, but like someone who rarely faced unexpected situations, he was momentarily unsure how to act. He then saw Koen raising his left hand, attempting to press down on Sibyl's shoulders and turn her over. As a man in his fifties and not particularly strong, Koen faced resistance; Sibyl's hands struck at his neck while trying to push him away. At this moment, Hylan charged in, using the most unconsidered method for him, with his shoulder and upper arm.
Koen fell from the other side of the bed, hitting his head on the corner of a cabinet. He stood up, holding his bleeding and sweating forehead with his hand, and looked at Hylan. His expression was angry and confused but not hateful, as if he was also pondering what he had just done. After an uncomfortable silence of three seconds, Koen picked up a coat from the floor and squeezed past Hylan out of the door. Hylan heard the maid trying to follow him, only to be scolded and chased away.
For the moment, there were only two people left in the room. Hilsbeth sat up, her back to him, clutching the torn pieces of her dress to her exposed skin. He could see her trembling; her breathing was rapid, and occasionally, her hoarse, weak voice emerged.
A sharp pain spread from Harlan's chest to his arms. He felt an impulse to embrace her... to smooth her disheveled hair and tell her it was over. But he had no right to do so. Only after seeing Sibyl's own resistance did he finally act to save her. Even now, recalling that he had actually struck Koen, Hylan still felt an unreal dizziness in his mind.
Hylan turned around and saw the previously anxious maid looking at him with worry and fear. "Take care of Madam Hilsbeth," he told her—in a broken tone that he himself could barely hear—and then fled the room. He continued to flee, down the stairs, out of the prison-like estate gates... whether he finally stopped on the path not far outside, he no longer remembered.
From that day on, Koen's political career began to decline, and Hylan realized how laughable his delusions were. For a long time, he had defined the happiness Hilsbeth should receive, hoping it would materialize out of thin air and thus absolve his own guilt. However, he had once been Koen's accomplice; no amount of reflection on faith or hopeful expectations would change that. When the opportunity to prove himself reappeared in a very urgent manner, he was so powerless.
Holy light.
Everything before him became blurred. The gray-white stones on the road, the rotting tree bark blown by the wind, the withered grass broken by invisible footprints—he spoke to these things and to himself. Holy light.