Tither possessed recovery abilities and stamina far superior to ordinary people, and when purified by a well-matched Guide, his innate regenerative power could be greatly enhanced. The reason Seiyad’s body had healed to this extent was thanks to Ressas’s purification. The wounds that hadn’t fully closed were simply beyond what his body could recover from on its own.
Ressas, like other Guides, couldn’t heal a Tither.
It was a well-known fact, something that aligned with the memories he retained from the past. Although Ressas had awakened at a different time in this timeline, the outcome hadn’t strayed from what he had expected. Ressas was an unusually powerful Guide, but since he couldn’t heal a Tither, he’d once been condemned by his political enemies. They had scorned him, calling him a half-baked Guide—late to awaken, with incomplete abilities.
“You did everything correctly.”
There was no way to explain it clearly. Despite Seiyad’s affirmation, Ressas wore an expression clouded with guilt. It was understandable—he likely expected to possess such abilities naturally and was disappointed. But he seemed unreasonably shaken.
“Then why are there still wounds left?”
“Not all Guides have healing abilities.”
“But my wounds closed. Doesn’t that mean I have that kind of power?”
“Just as each person is born with a different nature, so too do their abilities differ.”
It was certainly strange, but that was all. Even among the royal family, there were plenty whose healing powers weren’t particularly strong. Aster’s abilities were simply exceptional.
“Once we return to the palace, there will be experts who can analyze Your Highness’s powers more thoroughly. For now, we should focus on getting back.”
Judging by the dim light, it was still early morning—they had to get out of the forest before sunset. If they could reach the nearest village, they could secure a horse, and even if they moved slowly, they’d be able to return to the capital by nightfall. There was much to do once they returned. The most urgent was checking on Vetria’s condition. Her sudden rampage weighed heavily on his mind.
“My Tither is the Duke. I have no intention of seeking others.”
Seiyad, who had been quietly outlining a plan, suddenly froze. His brow furrowed faintly as he glanced toward Ressas, who sat upright on the makeshift bed, eyes fixed intently on him.
“Purification is, after all, an interaction with a Tither. I’ll learn as I purify the Duke, so I see no need to seek guidance from the royals.”
…Was that a genuine offer for him to become his Tither? Seiyad, who had harbored doubts since the moment the suggestion was first made, finally voiced the question.
“Is there truly any reason for Your Highness to become my Guide? I’d be satisfied simply borrowing a bit of Your Highness’s strength. With people who recoil in disgust at the mere mention of me, I don’t see why you’d want to stand beside me.”
Seiyad had a clear goal. But for Ressas, there was nothing to gain. He already had an ally—Zion Shildras. The southern leader who had risen to lead the Tithers stood firmly in Ressas’s camp, and now, miraculously, Ressas had awakened in this time of upheaval. If he intended to vie for the throne, casting Seiyad aside would have been the more logical move. Shildras and Brosius standing on the same side was not a picture that could exist.
At Seiyad’s cold, pragmatic words, Ressas lowered his gaze. His lips pressed shut, lost in thought, a shadow of melancholy settling over his pale face. Seiyad felt a flicker of unease at the forlorn air clinging to him—but then, Ressas spoke evenly.
“Because I don’t know what you’ll do when I’m not looking, I’ve decided to keep you in sight. I can’t sit by and let you commit any more atrocities.”
That made more sense. Seiyad thought back to the deeds he had carried out under the name of Duke Axid. Never mind the grim atmosphere that had enveloped his entire domain—he had refused various requests for aid and, in order to effectively capture Nir’a, had at one point sacrificed several villages.
The most severe incident had occurred four years prior. When the eastern territory of Vetria requested help, Seiyad refused, and as a result, a major settlement at the border was entirely consumed by Nir’a. Due to geographical proximity, Tither aid was first routed north, to him—but he had rejected their plea. Vetria had cursed him for that decision and severed ties.
“I will not allow another tragedy like the one that befell the Duchy of Vetria.”
Right on cue, Ressas brought up the same incident. It was strange that someone who had never left the palace knew such details of his past—but then again, it had been a matter of public outcry. No doubt the rumors had reached the capital.
It had been just over a year since Seiyad had become a lord. He had spent his first winter alone. His younger sister had left the castle, and in the entire northern region, Seiyad was the only Tither. When the eastern plea for help arrived, he had already lost many knights due to inexperience. He had no manpower to spare.
But rather than offer excuses, he chose silence. Admitting to his own shortcomings was tantamount to turning his back on an enemy. He had been granted one chance to protect his territory instead of being bound to a Tither from another family. Seiyad couldn’t afford to become a man with visible weaknesses.
Even if others knew, it would change nothing. The same held true now.
“I doubt it’ll work. I spend half the year on frozen land. Your Highness doesn’t do well with cold, do you?”
As a child, Ressas always caught colds with the changing seasons. A light chill in the wind would turn him ghostly pale. He was especially sensitive in the mornings, and it was essential to pack extra layers for him.
Even so, he had an unusual fondness for snow. The capital, close to the southern region, rarely saw snow—but when it did, Ressas, shy yet hopeful, would ask Seiyad to watch the snowfall together. While watching the soft white flakes, he would often ask, “Is this what the snow in the north looks like to Eid?”
“…That was when I was a child.”
Ressas’s voice dropped low. With his head still bowed, his expression was hidden.
“I don’t get cold anymore.”
To Seiyad, Ressas still looked terribly young—but he didn’t bother denying it. Instead, he nodded quietly and turned to the task at hand. Grabbing the sword leaning against the cabin wall, he slowly pushed open the door.
As it swung open, a sharp, frozen gust bit at his nose.
He surveyed the area around the cabin with a practiced eye. The sun had begun to rise fully, casting a bright glow. Strangely, while the rest of the forest was dense with trees, the space around the cabin was conspicuously open—no overhanging branches, no obstruction. The sky was fully visible, allowing sunlight to pour down unimpeded. It seemed this specific location was why Ressas had managed to reach here safely. There was clearly a reason the cabin had been built in this spot.
Where the sunlight touched the ground, the snow had begun to melt, making it just barely possible to open the door. But beyond the immediate clearing, the forest remained thick with snow piled high. From what he could tell, it reached up to the knees. Pushing through that would be grueling. They needed to depart immediately before their pace slowed any further.
“Are we leaving now?”
While he was scanning the surroundings, Ressas had somehow come up behind him. Startled by the voice so close to his ear, Seiyad turned sharply—and in the process, his back brushed lightly against Ressas’s chest and arm.
A shiver crawled up the back of his neck. The ticklish sensation slid down his spine. Just from that brief contact, a cool, refreshing energy spread through him—it felt good, so good it was almost frightening. Not even Aster had affected him like this.
“It seems we must.”
Perhaps this was why every Tither praised Ressas’s purification so highly. Seiyad cleared his suddenly tight throat and subtly stepped back from him. If they kept touching like this, he feared he wouldn’t be able to pull away from the sensation.
And unlike Aster, Ressas wasn’t someone who placed limits on his power. If he wanted to, he could offer that comfort endlessly. That kind of ease was something Seiyad knew he needed to be wary of.
“We have to reach the village before sunset.”
In snow this deep, no matter how thick the boots, after thirty minutes of walking the feet would go numb. Once night fell, the snow would begin to freeze again. They had to avoid Nir’a and finish the journey while the sun was still up. Ressas didn’t say much—he simply followed a step behind, matching Seiyad’s retreating pace. The silence was unexpectedly stifling.
Just as Seiyad turned his body to leave, Ressas placed a hand on the back of his neck. Seiyad flinched and looked over his shoulder, only to find Ressas draping the fur cloak they had shared back over his shoulders.
“You seemed more sensitive to the cold than I was, yesterday.”
The warmth of Ressas’s hand brushed against his nape. The place where he touched burned as if marked by a brand—scorching in the exact shape of the contact.
“Wrap up properly before we go.”
That low whisper, spoken with a neutral expression, sent a jolt through his chest. It stirred something uneasy inside him—a mix of refusal toward a kindness he hadn’t asked for and the instinctual wariness of something unfamiliar.
