### Rebirth
Two weeks had passed since Dorian and éléonore returned to the Imperial School of Mor, a return marked by the indelible seal of the tragedy that had struck their family. The suite they shared with Mero and Sven, reserved for royal heirs, was a jewel box of luxury where every detail proclaimed their rank. The walls, adorned with sumptuous tapestries of gold and silver threads, depicted scenes of ancient triumphs, their vibrant colors dancing under the light of crystal chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling. The furniture, carved from rare ebony inlaid with mother-of-pearl and ivory, gleamed softly, while a massive marble fireplace, adorned with delicate floral motifs and golden statuettes, diffused a constant warmth into the sandalwood-scented air. The windows, draped in purple velvet, framed a view of Mor's snowy gardens, their panes set with floral patterns capturing the silver reflections of dancing snowflakes.
Yet, despite this opulence, an invisible heaviness reigned. Dorian, once radiant with life, had become a shadow of himself. His smiles, once so natural, were rare, eclipsed by a gaze often lost in an inner horizon, his dark eyes reflecting a fatigue that no rest seemed to alleviate. éléonore, for her part, bore her pain with silent dignity, a constant, discreet melancholy veiling her delicate face. The loss of their father, King Orval, had carved a void that even the luxury of their surroundings could not fill, a gaping wound in their princely hearts.
Princess Ki, steadfast as a star in the night, had become the guardian of their comfort. In the suite, she organized moments of relaxation for Dorian, filling the space with light conversations and simple activities—a game of chess on an onyx and ivory board, a cup of jasmine-scented tea served in fine porcelain. She watched over him with unwavering gentleness, her graceful gestures contrasting with the heaviness weighing on his shoulders. But despite her efforts, Dorian seemed exhausted, his gaze often wandering to the windows, where the gray sky of Mor seemed to reflect the uncertainty of his thoughts.
One afternoon, as heavy clouds draped the school park in an oppressive veil, Ki and Dorian sat under the shade of an ancient oak tree, its bare branches stretching like skeletal fingers against the sky. The ground, covered in a thin layer of snow, crunched under their feet, and the biting air carried the scent of frozen earth. Ki, wrapped in a white woolen cape trimmed with fur, spoke softly, her voice a soothing murmur in the icy silence. "Dorian, it's normal for grief to take time to fade," she said, her dark eyes gleaming with deep understanding. "But you are not alone. We are all here for you, even if words sometimes seem insufficient."
Dorian, dressed in a black coat with tarnished silver buttons, nodded in an effort to regain some semblance of normality. But his eyes remained evasive, lost in a elsewhere she could not reach. "Sometimes, I wonder if it will ever be easier…" he murmured, his voice hoarse, marked by an emotional fatigue that seemed to consume him. His fingers absently played with a frozen twig, breaking it into tiny pieces as if seeking to disperse his pain.
Ki offered him a soft smile, a glimmer of hope in her delicate expression. "You know, sometimes it's in moments of silence, of calm, that we find what we lack," she replied, her words carefully chosen like a hand extended in the darkness. "It may take time, but you will eventually see the light through the clouds. You just need to not lose hope." She placed a light hand on his arm, a discreet but comforting gesture, as the wind made the snowflakes dance around them.
Meanwhile, éléonore kept to herself, often alone in her suite or in the richly decorated hallways of the school. She carried the same pain as her brother but hid it under a stoic facade, taking refuge in her studies and daily tasks. Seated at a mahogany desk inlaid with gold, she blackened parchments with mechanical precision, her quill pens gliding over the paper in rhythmic silence. But sometimes, a flash of sadness crossed her face—a fleeting tremble of her lips, a gaze lost in the void—revealing the hidden pain.
The following two weeks were a subtle ballet of healing attempts and invisible wounds. Ki, despite her infinite patience, understood that Dorian and éléonore would have to trace their own path to the light, but she persisted in surrounding them, a firm and discreet presence in their inner storm.
One evening, as the suite bathed in the golden glow of candles, Mero approached Sven, who was observing éléonore from an emerald velvet armchair. She stood near the fireplace, a letter in hand, her face illuminated by the flickering flames. Mero, adjusting his silver-embroidered tunic, murmured to Sven, "You should support éléonore if you care about her."
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Sven took a moment to reflect, his gaze resting on éléonore with new intensity. She seemed strong, draped in a dark dress with pearl-adorned sleeves, but her slightly hunched shoulders betrayed the weight she carried. He remained silent for a moment, a glimmer of reflection in his hazel eyes, before responding. "You're right," he said, his voice low but filled with an unusual gravity. "éléonore... she has always been strong, but I sense she carries an immense burden. I'm sure she prefers to keep it to herself, but that doesn't mean she doesn't need support."
He slowly turned his head toward Mero, seeking confirmation in his words. "But you know, it's not easy to find the right way to be there for her," he added, a slight sigh escaping him. "She has this facade... this distance. I struggle to know what she truly feels." His fingers nervously tapped the armrest of the chair, the leather creaking under the pressure, revealing his uncertainty in the face of this emotional challenge.
Mero placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, his gaze firm but friendly. "She won't push you away if you try," he said. "Not if she sees that you are sincere." Sven nodded, a new resolve seeming to forge within him. "I will do my best," he concluded, a new determination in his voice. "If she needs someone, I will be there. It's not easy, but it's the right thing to do." His eyes followed éléonore as she placed the letter in an ebony box, and he stood up, ready to bridge the distance between them, even if each step seemed like a gamble into the unknown.
Mero also strove to lift Dorian and éléonore's spirits, aware that time alone would not be enough to heal their wounds. In the dining hall, he sometimes invited them to share simple moments. The walls, draped in crimson silk and adorned with delicate frescoes of mythical feasts, sparkled under the crystal chandeliers, their prisms casting shards of light on the polished marble floor. The round tables, draped in white damask cloths, were set with massive silver cutlery and crystal glasses, while servants in dark livery glided with silent grace, carrying silver trays laden with refined dishes. A string quartet played a soft melody in a corner, its notes floating in the air like a caress.
One evening, Mero had a tray of pastries served—chocolate éclairs, pastel-colored macarons, red fruit tartlets—in the hope of eliciting a smile from Dorian. Seated near a sculpted fireplace where cedar-scented flames danced, he offered a plate to his friend. "They still need a little time," he murmured to Sven, who was observing the scene from a gold-embroidered chair. "But I want to believe that we can help them find a little light."
Dorian took a macaron, his fingers hesitant, and managed a pale smile. "Thank you, Mero," he said, his voice still tinged with deep weariness. éléonore, seated beside him, accepted a tartlet with a polite nod, her eyes softening slightly. It wasn't a complete healing, but a fragile step toward normality, a glimmer of life in their shadows.
A month later, the scars finally began to close, gently, like flowers opening after a long winter. The atmosphere gradually lightened. Dorian, though still reserved, resumed his studies with newfound concentration, his quill pens scratching the parchment under the glow of candles. His smiles remained rare but were more sincere, carried by a faint gleam in his dark eyes. éléonore, less distant, showed more openness, participating in discussions with a discreet but real presence. She accepted small attentions—a book lent by Mero, a cup of tea offered by Ki—with muted gratitude, her stoic facade crumbling to reveal a rediscovered softness.
Princess Ki, ever attentive, had woven a thread of light into their daily lives. In the park, she organized walks under the snowy trees, her words light as snowflakes, soothing Dorian's heavy silences. "Look at the branches," she said to him one day, pointing to a frost-covered oak tree. "Even under the cold, they still shine. You will shine again too, at your own pace." Dorian nodded, a fragile smile forming on his lips, a sign that her words resonated with him.
Sven, true to his promise, had found a balance with éléonore. He did not pressure her but stood by her side—a discreet presence during meals in the dining hall, a word of encouragement when she seemed to falter. Their relationship, forged in shared pain, deepened into a silent complicity, a bond woven from understanding glances and simple gestures. One evening, as they shared a table near the fireplace, he offered her a napkin with a playful smile. "You have chocolate on your chin," he said softly. éléonore blushed slightly, a stifled laugh escaping her—a rare and precious sound, like a pearl in the darkness.
Mero, observing these progressions, also felt a peace settle in his own heart. The tension that had gnawed at him—the weight of their pain, his own doubts—eased, dissipated by the bonds they had forged in adversity. Evenings in the princely suite, lulled by the crackling of the fire and the scent of candles, became havens of comfort. Days in the dining hall, under the frescoes and chandeliers, regained a gleam of normality, with refined dishes accompanied by timid but sincere laughter.
Time, aided by solidarity, bore its fruits. The wounds did not completely fade—a shadow persisted in Dorian's eyes, a restraint in éléonore's gestures—but a form of serenity settled in, fragile but real. In this jewel box of luxury, amidst tapestries and crystals, they learned to heal, step by step, under the watchful and benevolent gaze of those who refused to let them fall.
