Chapter 44 Epilogue of Vol 2

The trip back to Kyros's territory was calm—almost unnervingly so. Amos slept through most of it, worn out from the Merchant Summit. Not from danger, conspiracies, or even the Broken Crown, but from the baffling talent merchants had for turning grain talks into eight-hour battles. A truly terrifying gift, and one Amos hoped never to encounter again.

Karos disagreed. He had taken notes—lots of them. Amos suspected the homunculus might secretly enjoy merchant conferences, which was a truly horrifying thought.

***

Several days later, the Kyros estate came into view on the horizon. Amos stretched leisurely.

"Finally."

Karos glanced at him.

"Young Master appears pleased."

"I can finally sleep in my own bed."

"You slept throughout most of the trip."

"It's just different."

"I see."

"It is a very important distinction."

Karos nodded despite clearly not understanding.

***

The moment Amos stepped into the mansion, he froze. There, in the entrance hall, stood Ambrosia—waiting, arms crossed, red eyes locked on him. Oh no. He knew that look all too well. Danger. Serious. The kind only younger sisters could bring. They stared each other down as the servants discreetly slipped away, knowing exactly what was about to unfold.

"..."

"..."

"...You disappeared again."

The accusation arrived immediately. Amos raised a finger.

"I can explain."

"Can you?"

"I could, but I choose not to."

"Thought so."

Amos sighed and reached into his dimensional storage, a motion Ambrosia instantly recognized. Her expression softened, though only a little. From within, Amos retrieved a beautifully crafted silver music box, elegant and adorned with tiny, enchanted flowers. Ambrosia’s gaze locked onto it as he held it up."The tribute."

"..."

"The mandatory tribute."

"..."

"The compensation package."

Ambrosia accepted it. Trying very hard not to look pleased.

"Acceptable."

Amos grinned.

"Thank you for your kind mercy"

The crisis was over.  

A few hours later, Amos finally made it to his room, collapsed into his chair, and was greeted by a daunting pile of letters. He stared at them. They stared back. A familiar duel—one he usually lost. Most were reports, requests, political drivel, and documents Karos somehow failed to intercept.  Amos was preparing to ignore them all, when one particular letter caught his attention. The handwriting was familiar.

Amos blinked then grabbed it.

"..."

No. Wait. No way. Surely not.  

He opened it, read, paused, read again, then slowly lowered the paper.

"..."

The room became silent.

Karos looked up.

"What is it?"

Amos didn’t reply. Instead, he reached into a drawer, pulled out a pair of glasses, and slid them on. Karos blinked—Amos almost never wore those. Then Amos read the letter again, slowly and carefully, word by word, sentence by sentence.

"..."

Karos suddenly felt concerned. "Young Master."

No response. The letter trembled slightly. Karos stood.

"Young Master?"

Amos slowly looked up. Like a man whose soul had just left his body.

"Karos."

"Yes."

"When was this letter left here?"

Karos walked over.

Examined the date.

Then paused.

"Approximately ten days ago."

Silence.

"..."

"..."

"...Karos."

"Yes."

"Would you kindly explain something to me."

Karos waited as Amos held up Elena’s letter. Its message was simple—infuriatingly so. She had come home for a short holiday from the academy, visited the estate, and spent several days there. She wanted to see him, but Amos had been away at the Merchant Summit. By the time he returned, she was already gone, back to the academy.

"..."

Karos got it instantly.  

A tragedy. A real one.  

Amos stared at the letter, eyes fixed on a single line. He read it again. And again. And again. Like someone hoping the words might change.  

They didn’t. Elena had been here. She’d gone. He’d missed her—completely. Not by a day. Not by hours. Completely.  

He took off his glasses, rubbed his face, slid them back on. Read again. Maybe there was hidden text. There wasn’t. Just the same blunt truth.  

Karos eased back a step.  

"..."

"..."

"..."

Amos rose slowly and wandered to the window, gazing out at a sunset that, despite its beauty, filled him with loathing. Then it hit him—his best friend, his childhood companion, the girl he’d shared years with, the one who accompany him adventuring—had returned just to see him. And he’d missed it, off at some merchant summit, snacking with a mute pink-haired girl whose name he didn’t even know. The absurdity washed over him in an instant.

Amos inhaled. "GODDAMITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!"

A scream echoed through the mansion, sending birds flying from nearby trees. Several servants fumbled their documents, a knight’s hand went to his sword, and a maid spilled her tea. Ambrosia nearly let her music box slip from her grasp.

Inside the room, Amos slammed his forehead onto the desk.

"HOW?!"

Karos remained calm.

"You were at the Merchant Summit."

"I KNOW THAT!" Another impact. "HOW DID I MISS HER ENTIRE VISIT?!"

Karos considered the question. Then answered honestly.

"Remarkable timing."

"THAT IS NOT HELPING!"

"It is right."

Amos let out a long, pained groan, like a man grieving something precious—which he was. He knew Elena, and the odds of her ever writing another heartfelt letter were practically nonexistent. The fact she’d left one at all was a small miracle and he had missed her entirely.

Amos slumped deeper into the chair.

This was Elena. The same Elena who could spend an entire month with him and somehow say fewer than fifty words. The same Elena who thought “Take care” was an elaborate goodbye. The same Elena who once stared at him for three minutes before deciding that was enough emotional support. And now, she had written him a letter. A letter. Willingly. Without threats. Without bribes. Without even charging him ten gold.

Amos lowered the paper with trembling hands.

"Karos."

"Yes?"

"I think I understand now."

"What?"

"Fate hates me."

Karos considered this.

"Possible."

"Thank you for validating my suffering."

"You are welcome."

***

Somewhere else in the estate, Ambrosia sat quietly, holding the music box, listening to the faint echoes of distant screams.

"...Brother Amos found out about Elena."

Lisa nodded.

"Indeed."

No further explanation was necessary. Everyone understood.

Another scream, followed by what sounded suspiciously like furniture being destroyed.

Neither reacted. This was a normal family event.

"Should we check on him?"

"No."

"Why?"

Ambrosia gently closed the music box.

"He needs to suffer for a while. A fair punishment."

"Very."

The two sipped their tea as Amos brooded over the greatest misfortune of his recent days. The Broken Crown could wait; missing Elena’s holiday visit was a far more pressing disaster.