“Lord Caelum’s appointed aide”—the very words felt a brand upon my skin. Each utterance, a fresh sting, a stark reminder of a adulthood I had neither sought nor embraced. Two syllables, ‘aide’, clumsy on my tongue, like an ill-fitting tunic woven for another man’s frame. Uncountable nights had dissolved into the shadowed hours, my mind a churning mill of inherited responsibility. The weight of his care pressed, an invisible shroud. My mornings were surrendered to the hallowed halls of the Grand Collegium of Eldoria, my evenings to the sterile confines of the Imperial Sanatorium of Solstice. Half-attended lectures blurred into the dull drone of obligation. With a heart heavy as river stone, I would return to Caelum’s private ward. He would burst forth, a caged falcon recognizing its keeper, a restless energy animating his pale frame. Then, as if primed for my arrival, Lord Caelum would unburden himself, a torrent of the day’s indignities. “Another marrow graft, they insist. Blast it all… my thigh will be a butcher’s block once more. And this slop they call nourishment! It gnaws at my very soul. I am not some enfeebled ancient, Elian, my gut is sound, why must I endure gruel fit only for a street cur?” His frustrations spilled forth, a genuine misery clouding his features, rendering him no different from a petulant child. A quiet sigh escaped me. My satchel yielded to my touch. The lingering scent of savory pastries, a faint sweetness, already clung to the fine leather, a perpetual affront. My face tightened instinctively. Still, it was preferable to carrying such a parcel openly through the corridors, inviting unsolicited gazes. “What?” Caelum’s query was tinged with a wounded suspicion. My inner eye conjured an image, absurd and repulsive—a massive, shaggy tail, drooping, then twitching with nascent hope. An appalling image. I recoiled, shaking away the thought with a shudder, and drew a lacquered wooden box from my bag. His pitiful gaze swept over the offering. The gloom in his eyes shifted, a flicker of something warmer kindling within their depths. “What is this?” “A midday meal. I inquired. They said your surgery remains distant, so this would be permissible.” “A meal?” His voice rose, incredulous. “Do not imbue it with significance. I simply procured it from a nearby purveyor.” I forbade him meaning because I had already burdened it with my own. Never would I confess the deliberate search, the careful selection of an establishment near the Sanatorium renowned for its patient-appropriate yet palatable fare. I refused even to acknowledge the thought. Such an act must appear nothing more than a simple human courtesy, devoid of deeper sentiment. Yet, it seemed, even that much was enough for Lord Caelum. His right hand, stiff and unwieldy, clawed at his earlobe, a frantic, almost desperate gesture. I caught a glimpse of raw crimson skin. My gaze drifted, unbidden, to his fingers. They curled inward, a permanent disfigurement, an unnatural stiffness. My features contorted. Why must those specific digits capture my attention? Why could I not simply look away? A crushing weight settled upon my chest. “……T-Thank you.” His voice, oddly subdued, reached me. Caelum glanced at me, a hesitant, fleeting flicker. Our eyes met, and he flinched, startled, fumbling with the clasp of the lunchbox. Or perhaps he merely feigned surprise, as if being caught observing me were an infraction, a secret he wished to conceal. He ate with a mechanical urgency, stuffing morsels into his mouth, oblivious to the crumbs scattering across his pristine linen. I leaned my weary form against the couch, watching. It was a discomfiting sight. Food spilled, a small disaster. Caelum’s little, ring, and middle fingers refused to bend fully. I could not discern if this was genuine impairment or a theatric exaggeration. Slowly, I moved closer, easing the spoon from his grasp. “What do you wish to eat?” “……” “The meat?” At the very least, I bore the obligation to acknowledge the reality of Caelum’s wounds. His lips glistening with gravy, he chewed, lowered his head slightly, and smiled. I could not comprehend this man, who would never again wield three of his fingers with ease, whose thigh and back bore jagged scars, smiling with such radiant, unburdened joy. I truly could not. I could not bring myself to meet his bright, luminous face. What amusement did he find in such a predicament? Were it me, I would wish for oblivion. I selected a choice piece of roasted sunroot, pushing it gently into Caelum’s mouth. He chewed, vigorously, still smiling. He always unsettled me. Truthfully, the luncheon box was less an act of spontaneous kindness and more a consequence of the events preceding my visit—a brief stop at the Valerius Estate. --- This was the second occasion since Lord Caelum’s skin grafts. Surprisingly, the aide’s pass remained in my possession, untouched. I had encountered the Valerius family in the Sanatorium only thrice before: once with his father, twice with his mother. His mother, particularly, presented a facade of gentle gratitude, as if rewarding me for relieving her of delegated duties. Caelum merely rested his chin on his hand, observing his mother’s retreating back with an unreadable gaze. I had only gone to retrieve some of Caelum’s personal effects, trifles to alleviate the crushing monotony of his confinement. That was all. I knew the profound tedium of a sickroom better than most. And having endured it myself, I knew precisely what small comforts were needed. I convinced myself it was not pity. Or affection. That day, instead of returning to the Collegium’s dormitory, I had commuted from my family home. En route, I had diverted my carriage to the Valerius Estate. The grand mansion welcomed me, its imposing gates swinging inward. But Lady Seraphina did not. Leaning against the polished wood of Caelum’s bedchamber doorframe, her voice was dry as bone. “Still clinging to Caelum, are we, Vance?” To be candid, my sentiments toward Lady Seraphina were far from warm. How could she neglect to visit, not even once? Her own kin lay suffering. An instinctual, unbidden judgment flared within me. I had not even realized its presence until that moment. It was unintentional. The realization snapped my jaw shut. I shoved more of Caelum’s neglected possessions into my satchel. “Yes.” My voice was clipped. “He truly has done it, hasn’t he? The imbecile. Utterly consumed by you.” My hand froze. I turned, as if compelled by an unseen force. “……Consumed by me?” “What, does that please you?” Her brow arched in disdain. “No, I merely asked for clarity.” “No one ‘merely asks’ for anything, Vance. You desired to know, so you sought the answer.” Her disgust was palpable. She muttered under her breath, yet I feigned deafness. Still, she stepped closer, disregarding my presence as if I were a mere shadow. This entire family possessed a singular talent for overlooking others. Seraphina, Caelum, even their father. “Tell me, where did you vanish after the academy’s last term?” “Yes.” I offered no further detail. The whole damned city likely knew already. She continued, undeterred. “It’s not as if I sought the knowledge myself. But Caelum… he threw a fit. That wretch, who never once darkened a temple door, suddenly praying, then screaming like a banshee. Not long after, he tore apart the Sunstone Seal Father had bestowed upon him and began shrieking.” “The Sunstone Seal?” “Yes, that thing. He once treasured it, you know? Called it a gift from his lineage, a mark of favor. Then he railed against the Divines, called them worthless curs. Shut himself in his rooms, refusing egress. The estate was finally peaceful for once. He doesn’t even grasp who the true wretch is. Idiot.” Her voice, which had dripped with mockery, abruptly lowered, her gaze fixed on my face. “What the blazes? Your face is flushed.” “It is not.” “Impossible. Do you truly… fancy him? You do, don’t you?” “I said no.” My voice was sharper than I intended. “……By the Celestial Patron.” She gasped, covering her mouth as if horrified. “You are utterly deranged. Truly.” Why did she persist when I had already denied it? Annoyed, I yanked my satchel’s zipper shut, a harsh rasp in the silence, and snapped back. I wanted to castigate her too. “Why did you utter such a thing? Your father merely introduced Caelum as his second son.” “What? What in the nine hells are you babbling about now?” A peculiar contradiction. I knew it, too. Lord Kaelan, who always seemed to prick my nerves, had once observed—Elian Vance, no matter his intentions, always ends up doing something kind. This time, however, I possessed an excuse. The mottled brown scars sprawling across Caelum’s back. Just as Caelum could not meet my gaze, I could not bring myself to look at the ravaged skin of his back. “Vance.” His voice was soft, an uncharacteristic tenderness. “Yes.” “Then… is it permissible if I believe in you?” His hoarse whisper drifted closer. I pretended indifference. But I listened. “What in the Sunstone’s name are you talking about?” “I will not… fancy you.” In that instant, my heart plummeted, a leaden stone hitting the floor of my chest. My stomach twisted. Something tightened, a constriction around my ribs. I almost asked—without conscious thought— *Why not?* The words nearly escaped, a true, hidden thought on the precipice of revelation. *Elian Vance, you are a damned fool.* I clenched my fists, swallowing the treacherous question down. Yes. This was for the best. For both of us. “Then instead, I will believe in you.” But Caelum spoke a strange, unsettling pronouncement. His voice was a tangled skein of sorrow and elation, like a disciple receiving a revelation. Was there any other way to describe him in this moment? I did not grasp his meaning. And yet, I did not withdraw my hand. Did not flee. The suffocating weight upon my chest no longer merely squeezed—it plunged a sharp, cold dagger. “I am an apostate now. Honestly, you are far more useful to my existence than any Celestial Patron.” “Silence, you blasphemous wretch.” This man… “You revile the Divines every day.” “No, that is untrue! I was raised a devout believer, you know!” “Then what was that utterance just now?” Caelum shook his hands frantically, a desperate flurry, as if his very life depended on my belief. His tone, a raw plea, bordering on tears. If I did not believe him, he might genuinely weep. Caught off guard, I was left speechless. Then, as if a sudden resolve had seized him, Caelum slid from the couch and dropped to his knees. “Then I shall show you.” “Stop, stop. What in the hells are you doing?” A large hand clasped my foot. I had been seated with my legs propped on the chaise, and the sudden motion caused me to slide forward, precariously balanced on the edge of the seat. My foot dangled, held captive in his grasp. Caelum’s gaze fell upon the faded scar on the sole of my foot, the jagged memory of broken glass from my youth. His brow furrowed. And to my utter disbelief—his eyes glistened with unshed tears. I recoiled in shock, attempting to yank my foot away. Before I could escape, Caelum lowered his head. “What are you—” “In the name of the Ancestral Founders, the Imperial Lineage, and the Blessed Sunstone.” Cold fingertips brushed against my ankle. A sharp ache shot up my calf, a deep, unsettling sensation. What madness possessed this man? I tried to pull my foot free, but my strength abandoned me. Caelum looked up at me once, his face utterly devoid of disgust. Like a devout acolyte touching a sacred relic, he spoke. “I greet the one who guides.” He pressed his lips to the tip of my foot. His fine, soft hair brushed against my ankle, a strange, ticklish sensation. The gentle pressure of his lips traced a path across the base of my toes. “S-Stop it….” I threw an arm over my face. Caelum’s right hand tightened around my ankle. And in that moment—I ceased my resistance. Three weak, unbending fingers held onto me, a delicate, fragile grip tapping lightly against my skin. The lips that cursed the Divines every day traced a path up my calf. And I did nothing to stop him. That’s when I knew. This relentless, incurable disease—this nightmare of responsibility, a burden thrust upon an unremarkable scholar—it was far from over. It had only just begun.

A Burden of Unspoken Devotion