Before Enk could even respond, Yuder had already stepped out the door. The few remaining servants inside, upon seeing him, hurriedly moved aside or quickly ducked out of his way in shock.

Though the encounter with each was brief, none of them—just like Enk—seemed to have noticed anything unusual.

‘So it’s only the scent... without any accompanying presence.’

As he vaulted over the railing, Yuder found himself thinking of another kind of “peace” that had settled over the past four days.

Each day, after finishing just an hour or two of routine tasks, Yuder had been closely watching over Kishiar—observing his condition, attempting to trigger the heat cycle, carefully examining his internal energy. But despite his confidence, one unexpected issue had emerged: Kishiar’s energy wasn’t reacting to Yuder’s touch like it used to.

Back when Yuder had first proposed using this method, Kishiar’s energy had responded well to the power of the red stone wrapped around Yuder’s hand. But the moment he began serious attempts to draw it out, it suddenly hardened—like stone—and wouldn’t move at all.

Yuder suspected this baffling phenomenon was a result of Kishiar’s own anxieties. Even if his mind said no, his body—perhaps trying to protect both himself and Yuder—instinctively repressed all energy flow with sheer force. As the heat took hold and instincts gradually seized control, the usual mastery he held over his body weakened. Who would’ve thought the traits of the heat cycle would backfire this way?

On the second day, Yuder tried to ease the tension by releasing his own scent first. But that hadn’t gone well either. Kishiar, having lost partial control over his scent-regulating ability, alternated between over-saturating the room and completely sealing off his scent. In the end, Yuder—more concerned for him than frustrated—had suggested they try again the next day.

Kishiar had apologized awkwardly, but Yuder had simply reassured him.

‘Even if the energy isn’t moving, that in itself might be another sign that the heat is progressing. Don’t worry. I’m fine.’

Yesterday, he’d tried a different tactic: letting Kishiar draw in Yuder’s scent through his own power. But that had resulted in another ridiculous situation where the scent was yanked toward Kishiar so fast and so fully that Yuder’s mind went blank.

Too much scent too quickly—he’d known it could happen, but knowing it in theory and feeling it were very different. It was like someone had suddenly grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked. His vision dimmed, and before he knew it, he was staggering off balance. Kishiar’s expression—upon realizing he’d lost control again—had been deeply troubled.

‘Guess it’s best to stop trying one method at a time. If we’re going to do this, we’ll need to do both at once.’

Kishiar was right. But to do both, Kishiar’s scent had to be in motion too—and how was Yuder supposed to coax that out of someone so scared and stubborn?

That was the question that had occupied his mind for hours as he went about his work.

So... what the hell had happened in the meantime?

He bounded up the deserted stairs, pushing against the wind with his power. The higher he went, the more oppressive the pressure grew—like a crushing mist smothering the entire castle. And yet Yuder didn’t stop, even as he felt like he was sinking into the deep sea. Finally, he reached the Duke’s bedroom door. He reached out to open it—

—and stopped.

A sudden memory came to him: the day of his awakening, when that man had come to find him as he hid himself away. If Kishiar had panicked then, shown any anxiety or urgency, would Yuder have been able to lower his defenses? Probably not.

The same went for the heat. If not for Kishiar’s composed demeanor, his unwavering calm, his steady presence during that moment of overwhelming instinct... Yuder might have remembered that event very differently.

Yuder bit down on his lip and adjusted his stance. He ignored the primal urge pounding in his chest in the presence of that overwhelming scent. Straightening his clothes, fixing his collar, he took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“It’s me.”

Silence. No answer.

“I’m coming in.”

Even with all doors closed, the scent was this intense. What would it be like inside? Yuder didn’t let such thoughts stop him.

He reached for the handle—

Clunk.

It didn’t move.

Had it not been for the lock stopping him, he would’ve been inside by now.

He looked down at the door, tried again, but the latch inside held fast.

‘...What is this?’

Yuder had hesitated before. But Kishiar—Kishiar had never once stopped him from coming in. This was the first time, and it felt... deeply strange.

Then, from within, a faint presence stirred.

“Commander? ...Kishiar?”

He instinctively used the old title, then quickly corrected himself.

“...Yuder.”

Finally, a soft voice seeped through the wood. His racing heart settled, just a little. Yuder exhaled with relief and spoke cautiously.

“Yes, it’s me. I noticed your scent and got worried. Are you alright? The door’s locked—may I come in?”

He didn’t ask why the door was locked.

Kishiar didn’t reply right away. After what felt like an eternity—long enough to test all of Yuder’s patience—another faint murmur came through.

“...I had a dream.”

“...Pardon?”

It wasn’t an answer to his question. But he kept listening, and Kishiar continued.

“A different kind of dream... I don’t even know if it was a dream... I opened my eyes and you weren’t there, and I... tried to find you.”

“...”

So... he’d fallen asleep, had a nightmare—something seriously bad—and woke to find Yuder gone, and then this happened?

Yuder pieced it together and grabbed the handle again.

“It was just a dream. And now I’m here. I want to come in and see you—will you open the latch? Or should I open it myself?”

The second option might require breaking it.

He tried his best to mimic the calm, composed Kishiar he remembered—but whether it came off that way, he wasn’t sure.

“....”

“Kishiar.”

“....”

“Akit.”

With each repetition of his name, Yuder’s voice dropped lower. He didn’t want it to, but the scent—so heavy, so binding—made speaking normally nearly impossible.

This wasn’t Kishiar’s usual scent: clean, composed, restrained yet soft. No—this was like a beast baring its fangs. A wild, magnetic force wrapping around him, seductive and overpowering. It numbed his senses. His balance wavered beneath the pressure pressing down on him.

But the hardest part wasn’t the scent, or the weight—it was his own body reacting in kind. As if it too were ready to snap, to surrender.

If he slipped even slightly, all his restraint would snap—and he’d collapse.

Had Kishiar been feeling like this all this time?

If it were pain, it would be easier to endure. He was used to pain.

But this—this intoxicating, seductive pull—this was harder than any of the tortures he’d endured before death.

As he inhaled, the scent passed through him like a knife of sweetness. His head spun.

I want to rip that door open and kiss him.

The person inside, trembling and waiting, was his—he wanted to run to him, hug him tight enough to bruise, bite his skin and taste it, swallow his breath through a deep kiss and tangle his fingers in that glowing hair until he could no longer tell where one of them ended and the other began. His body knew that pleasure—had become [N O V E L I G H T] far too familiar with the sweetness and satisfaction of it.

The one inside was his. Just reach out and take him.

Why am I not going in? Why is the door locked? Why...?