### The Weight of Shadows

  The return to the Imperial School of Mor after the ski weekend was a stark contrast to the lighthearted days spent in the mountains. The carriage bringing Mero, Sven, and Dorian back struggled along the snowy paths, its wheels grinding against the ice as the capital emerged from the morning mist. The austere towers of Mor pierced a sky heavy with gray clouds, their dark silhouettes standing like silent sentinels above the snow-covered rooftops. The air, laden with icy humidity and a faint smell of burnt wood, seeped under their thick cloaks, but Mero still carried a residual warmth—an echo of the shared laughter on the slopes of the Tempelunes. Those moments of escape had been a breath of fresh air, a pause from duties and intrigues, but the reality of school now caught up with them with implacable force.

  As they passed through the school gates, the courtyard was eerily silent, the twilight casting long, distorted shadows on the frozen cobblestones. The few students present at that hour went about their tasks in a discreet murmur, their figures bundled in woolen cloaks quickly disappearing into the annex buildings. Mero adjusted his bag on his shoulder, exchanging a knowing glance with Sven, when their eyes fell on an unexpected scene near the stables. Two figures dressed in black waited, their grave faces half-hidden under dark hoods, and beside them stood éléanor, Dorian's sister. Her black dress, sober and devoid of ornaments, contrasted with the vitality she had displayed during their evening at the inn a few days earlier. Her red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks betrayed deep sorrow. She made a discreet sign to Dorian, her trembling hands clutching a crumpled handkerchief to her chest.

  Dorian froze, his smile fading like a flame extinguished by a cold breeze. The joy of the weekend, still evident in his light steps moments before, vanished in an instant, replaced by visible tension. He hesitated, his eyes darting between the two strangers and his sister, capturing the gravity of the situation in their oppressive silence. "What’s…" he murmured, his voice breaking before fading away. Then, after a final glance at Mero and Sven—a mix of confusion and silent plea—he slowly approached his family, each step seeming weighed down by growing apprehension.

  Mero and Sven hung back, their figures frozen in the snow, respecting the intimacy of the moment. A silent worry etched itself on their faces—a furrowed brow from Sven, a hand clenched on the strap of his bag from Mero. The tension in the air was almost palpable, a heavy silence replacing the laughter that had accompanied them until then. They watched Dorian walk away with his sister and the two family members, their black cloaks billowing like specters in the dim light, until they disappeared behind an arch leading to the school's private quarters. A exchange of glances followed between Mero and Sven, a mix of uncertainty and discomfort, neither knowing what lay behind this sudden arrival. The absence of a prior letter, the urgency of their personal presence, all suggested grave news, a brutal fracture in their friend's life.

  The truth emerged soon after, spread by rapid whispers among the students and school staff, like a cold wind sweeping through the hallways. Dorian's father, King Orval of Fine, had died. The news struck like a thunderclap, brutal and unexpected, resonating in Mero's mind with a dull violence. An accident during a hunt, they learned: a stag, in a desperate lunge, had impaled the sovereign with its sharp antlers, a tragic and almost absurd end for a man of his rank. The image—a king felled by a beast, his blood staining the snow of Fine's forests—made the loss even harder to grasp, a mix of savagery and fate that seemed to defy all logic.

  Mero felt a weight settle on his shoulders as the details became clearer, whispered in the common rooms and dark corridors. Dorian's grief, already perceptible in his silence during their parting, took on a darker hue in the light of this revelation. Imagining his friend confronted with such sudden and brutal loss—the death of a father under such circumstances—awakened in Mero a mix of empathy and helplessness. He had never experienced such a close loss, his parents still reigning over Sel, but he could sense the vast emptiness that must be engulfing Dorian at that moment. Sven, beside him, stared at the courtyard floor, his fingers clenched on a pouch at his belt, his usually jovial face marked by an uncharacteristic gravity.

  "A stag…" Sven murmured, breaking the silence between them as they returned to their quarters, their steps faintly echoing on the frozen cobblestones. His voice, usually so light, carried a note of incredulity, almost rebellion. "How is that possible?" Mero did not respond immediately, his thoughts turned toward Dorian, éléanor crying in the courtyard, a family now shattered. "It’s… tragic," he finally said, the words feeling weak against the enormity of the event, like pebbles thrown into a raging sea. They shared a glance filled with understanding, a silent solidarity settling between them. They knew the coming days would be marked by their friend's mourning, and although their presence could not erase his pain, they had to be there—discreet but sincere, ready to offer support when Dorian needed it.

  Later, in a common room where a fire crackled weakly in a blackened stone hearth, Mero and Sven found Dorian. He was sitting near a window, his gaze lost in the dark night beyond the frosted panes, where only a few stars pierced the darkness. Princess Ki, who had arrived shortly after the news, sat beside him, her calm and reassuring presence contrasting with the inner storm he seemed to be weathering. Her black clothes, simple but elegant, underscored the gravity of the moment, and her dark eyes held a contained worry. Mero and Sven approached cautiously, their steps muffled by the worn rug covering the floor, and asked the question weighing on their hearts.

  "Dorian," Mero began, his voice soft but firm, "would you accept our company on your journey home to your kingdom? We want to be there for you, to help you through this ordeal." Sven nodded, adding in a lower, almost husky tone, "You shouldn’t face this alone."

  Dorian looked up, visibly touched by their offer. The sadness in his gaze, deep and raw, betrayed the immense difficulty of the moment. He took a moment to respond, his fingers clutching an empty goblet he hadn't touched, his knuckles whitening under the pressure. "I… I thank you," he finally said, his voice rough and hesitant, as if drawn from a well of silence. "It’s generous of you. But I’m not sure I’m ready to receive visitors now. My family needs me for the funeral, for the estate… Everything is still too raw. But later, when things calm down, I think your presence could help. Ki… she’s right to want to be here now. She’ll be valuable support."

  Ki, her dark eyes filled with restrained solicitude, nodded gently. She turned to Mero and Sven, her soothing voice seeking to soften the tension filling the room. "We’ll do what’s necessary to help him," she said, her words carefully chosen. "But I think it’s important to respect the time and space he needs to face this loss." Her words, imbued with wisdom, carried a hint of firmness—a reminder that their support, though appreciated, must adapt to Dorian's needs during this fragile period.

  Mero felt a pang of disappointment, but he nodded, understanding the logic behind their decision. Dorian appreciated their gesture, evident in the fleeting gratitude that crossed his gaze, but he preferred to face this first wave of grief with his family and Ki. The princess, with her discreet yet steadfast presence, already seemed to be a pillar in this moment of crisis, a role that Mero and Sven could not fill for now.

  Their desire to help did not fade, however. A few hours later, in the dormitory where candles cast flickering shadows on the rough stone walls, Mero and Sven insisted on another gesture. "We respect your choice, Dorian," Mero said, sitting on the edge of his bed, his voice filled with quiet determination, "but we’d like to offer flowers for the funeral ceremony. It would be a way to show we’re with you, even from afar."

  Dorian, burdened but attentive, gave them a slight grateful smile, a fragile light piercing the darkness of his grief. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice trembling but sincere, like a thin thread connecting their friendship to this moment of desolation. "It’s a touching gesture. Flowers… they always bring a bit of comfort in these dark moments. I gladly accept. Maybe they’ll brighten this somber day."

  Ki, standing beside him, added with a softness that seemed to lighten the crushing weight on her friend, "Flowers are a simple but powerful gesture. They’ll show we’re there, even if we can’t be physically present." Her voice, calm and composed, sought to bridge their support with Dorian's solitude. He nodded, comforted by this offer, though the pain remained etched in the lines of his face. They agreed to send the flowers in the coming days, a discreet but tangible symbol of their solidarity with a family in mourning.

  The next morning, Dorian climbed into a carriage with Princess Ki, his shoulders hunched under the weight of his grief. The carriage, somber and sober, waited near the school gates, its horses pawing at the cold air, their breath visible in white puffs. Sven approached éléanor before she joined her brother, murmuring a few words to her—perhaps condolences, perhaps a promise of future support. She responded with a nod, her eyes glistening with contained tears, before climbing into the vehicle. The carriage set off with a creak of wheels on the hardened snow, taking Dorian and his family to Fine, leaving behind a palpable void that seemed to stretch across the deserted courtyard.

  The following week was gloomy, a faithful reflection of the gray, low sky weighing over Mor. Classes resumed their monotonous rhythm, the classrooms echoing with the voices of professors and the scratching of quills on parchment, a mechanical noise that seemed to amplify the inner silence of Mero and Sven. Their thoughts kept returning to Dorian, to the pain he must be bearing alone in his distant kingdom. News came to briefly break this moroseness: Sven had received an official post for his help during the fire that had ravaged a third of the city the previous year, recognition that brought a fleeting smile to his face. "Not bad, huh?" he said to Mero with a wink, though his enthusiasm was tinged with persistent melancholy in the face of their friend's absence.

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  A few days after Dorian's departure, a discreet event broke the monotony of the Imperial School of Mor. A small package arrived for Sven, a rare occurrence for him. The carriage that delivered it had left tracks in the courtyard snow, and a servant had placed it in the dormitory with mechanical indifference. When it was handed to Sven, he took it with visible hesitation, his fingers brushing the fine cloth wrapping as if sensing a hidden weight. The package came from his sister, the queen of the kingdom of Fer, a tropical island in the Thetian Ocean where women ruled as uncontested matriarchs.

  Sven carefully untied the knot, his usually energetic movements slow and deliberate. Inside lay a brooch shaped like a frog, crafted from repoussé platinum, its delicate contours inlaid with emeralds and sapphires that glinted faintly in the dim candlelight. Mero, sitting on his bed a few steps away, watched with growing curiosity, the shadows dancing on the stone walls of the dormitory adding a mysterious aura to the scene. "A gift for an engagement, apparently," Sven said, reading a note with a hint of surprise in his voice. He held the brooch between his fingers, examining it closely, his thoughts seeming to wander for a moment into a distant past. Then, he glanced furtively at Mero, as if weighing his words before speaking.

  "My sister has a particular sense of humor," he began, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "She knows me well. This brooch is… a gift for an engagement, yes, but not mine." He paused, his gaze drifting to the window where night enveloped Mor in a black veil, before continuing. "éléanor and I… it’s more complex than that." He reflected for a moment, then added with feigned lightness, "She’s always told me that frogs are symbols of luck and transition in our culture. Maybe it’s a hidden message. But no, it’s not for éléanor."

  He turned his eyes to Mero, a mischievous gleam dancing in his gaze. "My sister likes to play with these little subtleties," he said, his voice more relaxed, though a hint of mystery lingered in his tone. Mero sensed that the brooch, though symbolic, was not linked to an immediate engagement with éléanor, but perhaps to another aspect of Sven's life—a secret he kept to himself, hidden beneath his nonchalant facade.

  Mero crossed his arms, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "I’m no expert in your country’s customs," he said, "but maybe she heard you’re seeing éléanor more often. You’re approaching the age when marriage is discussed there, right? Maybe she’s telling you it’s time to find a partner."

  Sven sketched a light smile, but a touch of irony shone in his eyes. "That’s a possibility, indeed," he replied, his tone tinged with amused resignation. "My sister has a keen sense of family and tradition. She doesn’t like it when we delay certain decisions. Maybe she thinks I’m finally ready to ‘settle down,’ as she puts it. But the reality is a bit more… nuanced. éléanor and I have spent more time together, true, but that doesn’t mean marriage is on the horizon. Our lives are… more complicated than they might seem from the outside."

  He paused, his fingers absently playing with the brooch, before continuing. "My sister and I often have these kinds of exchanges. She likes to give advice, but she doesn’t know everything. She could be wrong." Sven seemed to want to avoid saying too much, a contained reflection in his words hinting at thoughts he preferred to keep to himself.

  "I won’t bother you more about it," Mero said, raising his hands in surrender, a friendly smile on his face. "By the way, have I ever told you how I got engaged to Mandarine?"

  Sven raised an eyebrow, surprised by the change of subject. "No, you never mentioned that," he replied, crossing his arms with a mix of curiosity and amusement. "If it’s an interesting story, I’m all ears. How did it happen?" He leaned back against the wall, visibly intrigued by this facet of Mero's past, aware of the importance of Mandarine in his life and the complexity of their bond.

  Mero sat more comfortably on his bed, his eyes losing themselves for a moment in the dancing shadows of the dormitory. "It all started when the ship taking me to Mozanb had a breakdown," he recounted, his voice taking on an introspective tone. "We had to dock on an island for repairs. The captain chose it because it has the best marine architects. While walking around the town—my tutor, my nurse, and I—some children gave me gifts: a stone, a flower. I accepted them out of politeness, not knowing that on that island, accepting a gift is a pledge of engagement. Later, when we entered the only bookstore in town, I was kidnapped by Mandarine’s men. They took me to her house. Her father wanted to force me to marry her right away, but I negotiated with him. In my culture, marriage before the age of 17 is not valid, so I bought some time."

  Sven listened attentively, a gleam of surprise crossing his eyes. "A pirate fiancée, huh?" he said with a light smile, visibly amused by the intrigue. "That’s quite a start to a story—a forced marriage, a game of negotiations. It says a lot about your ability to get out of tricky situations. But how did you end up engaged to Mandarine? And how are things between you now?" His curiosity seemed genuine, tinged with fascination for this relationship born from unexpected chaos.

  Mero lowered his eyes for a moment, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips. "Since I didn’t want to marry right away, I proposed an engagement," he continued. "I thought I could escape the island and her grasp that way. But that night, she came to see me in secret. She… stole my heart." He paused, his words hanging in the air like a fragile confession, before looking up at Sven. "We get along because I chose to make it work. I could have forgotten her when I arrived at the capital, moved on, but I decided to follow this path."

  Sven nodded, impressed. "You made a wise choice, Mero," he said, his voice filled with contained admiration. "Choosing to make things work instead of running away shows real maturity. Mandarine must have appreciated that, and it probably strengthened your bond. It’s rare to see someone commit like that, especially in such a complicated situation."

  Mero sighed, his gaze losing itself in the shadows. "But now, I doubt," he admitted, a note of vulnerability in his voice. "Despite all the letters we write, I’m finding it harder and harder to keep that love intact. Especially since my new post. Many young nobles are courting me, and it’s very difficult to stay faithful to her." He lowered his eyes, his fingers nervously playing with a corner of his blanket.

  Sven, after a moment of silence, reflected before responding. "I understand," he said, his tone serious but empathetic. "It’s a challenge, especially here, where temptations are everywhere and loyalty is constantly tested. But remember why you got engaged to Mandarine. It wasn’t an easy choice, and you found something genuine with her, even if distance and circumstances complicate everything. Maybe what you’re missing is clarity on what you truly want. If you care about her, you’ll have to face these temptations and find a balance. Otherwise, you’ll need to make an honest, respectful decision—for her and for yourself." He looked at Mero with uncharacteristic gravity, seeking to grasp the depth of his turmoil.

  Mero hesitated, then let out a trembling breath. "Yes, but it’s very hard," he confided, his voice lower. "The night just before we left to go skiing, the duke of Grest’s daughter managed to get into my apartments. She was waiting… naked in my bed." His cheeks flushed slightly at the memory, a warmth rising to his face despite himself.

  Sven’s eyes widened, a mix of surprise and concern crossing his gaze. He took a moment to digest this revelation, then exclaimed with a hint of horror, "I… I see why it’s hard to manage. It’s a pressure few can understand." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "You’re the only one who can decide how far you want to go with this. If you care about Mandarine, remember that these temptations don’t define your loyalty. Giving in to the moment is easy, but it can cost you dearly later. But if you’re at a crossroads, maybe it’s time to clarify your feelings." He looked at Mero seriously. "You’re a man of principle, Mero. The question is, what kind of man do you want to be, even if it means making difficult choices."

  Mero blushed further, lowering his eyes. "I managed to chase her away without dishonoring her," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "But I still vividly remember her perfect body. I can still see…" He trailed off, his cheeks flaming as he tried to banish the image from his mind.

  Sven shook his head slightly, uncomfortable but not judgmental. "I see," he said softly, his words filled with understanding. "It’s normal to be troubled by that, especially when it’s so intense and unexpected. But these thoughts shouldn’t overshadow what you’ve chosen, what you truly want. It’s not easy, but every time you act with honor, it counts. There’s no shame in having conflicting thoughts, Mero. What matters is how you handle them and how you stay true to yourself."

  Mero looked up, a timid smile playing on his lips. "I’m telling you this because you have a complicated relationship with éléanor," he explained. "Think about it calmly. Her family is influential with the emperor, and your sister knows it. She won’t let such an opportunity slip away."

  Sven took a moment to reflect, his gaze thoughtful as it lost itself in the shadows of the dormitory. "You’re not wrong," he replied slowly, a new gravity in his voice. "My sister understands the political stakes. éléanor and I… it’s more complex than simple affection. But I don’t know if it’s just about influence and family, or if I truly feel something for her." He sighed, as if this doubt weighed heavily on his shoulders. "Family expectations are tough to bear, especially when they mix with feelings. I don’t want to act under pressure, but there’s always that temptation to take the easy path." He turned his eyes to Mero, a questioning gleam in his gaze. "I’ll think about it. Maybe with some distance, I’ll see more clearly. Thank you for reminding me."

  Mero nodded, his smile widening slightly. "Don’t worry," he said. "For me, it took Mandarine surprising me at the winter ball in my first year here to realize she was the one I desired. Tell your sister that, since éléanor just lost her father, now is not the time for such discussions. It’ll buy you some time."

  Sven sketched a smile, a gleam of gratitude crossing his eyes. "You’re right," he said, more serene. "Sometimes, pressure leads to hasty choices. Telling her that could give me some space. I’ll follow your advice. Who knows, with time, things might become clearer. Thank you, Mero. It’s not easy to talk about, but you make it simpler. I’ll write to my sister as soon as I have a moment. I’ll take this time to reflect." He glanced at the wooden clock hanging on the wall, then added with a conspiratorial smile, "Now, let’s focus on our studies. But as soon as I have a moment, I’ll write to my sister. I’ll use this time to think."

  His posture relaxed slightly, as if an invisible pressure had been lifted, and he carefully placed the brooch back in his pouch with almost ritualistic care, leaving the mystery of its message hanging in the air of the dormitory.