Return of the Mythic Bloodline

Chapter 494: Tristan and Celestia

Tristan and Ezekiel entered the graveyard, moved past a few graves, and stopped before three of them.

On the stone tablets, the names Arina Kale, Roland Kale, and Lucia Kale were written.

"Hey, Dad," Tristan said in a low tone, sitting before Roland’s grave. He brushed the dry leaves from the slab as he continued, "I have returned from the Monster Land. I was in the raid with Twilight Sword and even exchanged a few blows with the Troll King."

He turned to his mother Arina’s grave and murmured, "Don’t worry, Mom. I didn’t suffer many injuries."

His voice almost broke, his eyes turned moist as he turned to the last grave of his sister, Lucia Kale. "L-Lucia, y-you won’t believe it, b-but... sniff... I was actually saved by Twilight Sword."

Ezekiel sat beside him but said nothing.

He turned to her and spoke, wiping his tears.

"It was five years ago. I ran from the house after a fight with Father because I didn’t want to become a knight. During my absence, a troll entered the house. My father fought to the bitter end but couldn’t survive against the troll’s endless regeneration. When I returned, my whole family was dead."

Tears streamed down his face as he continued, "I found that troll later, wreaking havoc on another family. I didn’t sever its head. I smashed its body again and again until its regeneration completely gave out. It was the most brutal death I could give it yet it didn’t change anything. M-my family was already gone."

Ezekiel’s hand lifted slightly from her lap in hesitation, then stopped. After a moment, she raised it again, placed it against Tristan’s cheek, and let his head rest on her shoulder.

"Ce-Celestia, I’m a pathetic man who couldn’t even protect his family. I d-don’t deserve your worry or care."

It was then that I realized Tristan had never been oblivious to Ezekiel’s feelings. The time they had spent together in the cave, the way she had carried him on her back all the way from the Monster Land to the empire, and stayed with him in the hospital under the pretense of keeping an eye on him. He had been aware of the reasons behind Ezekiel’s actions all along.

He was simply scared of forming a family again after losing one before.

"You aren’t pathetic, Tristan," Ezekiel said softly. "If not for you, I wouldn’t be here. You didn’t only save me, you gave me an entirely new life. I am truly grateful for everything you have done for me."

Tristan didn’t respond. He sobbed silently as Ezekiel wrapped her arms around him.

Time passed. The Queen finally gave up on searching for Twilight Sword and announced his demise. A mourning period of seven days was declared to honor his departure to the other side.

Meanwhile, Tristan took retirement from knighthood and built a modest house in a farming village outside the city. The paths through the village had been formed over years of regular use, worn into the dirt by the footsteps of people, the hooves of cattle, and the wheels of horse carts.

Despite learning everything about his past, Ezekiel chose to stay with him. In her defence, she had no money, no family, and no place to return to so she was staying with the man who caused her to lose all of her wealth. The girl still wasn’t being honest with her feelings.

---

"I’m home," Tristan announced as he stepped through the door. His hair was damp, strands of it stuck flat against his forehead, his upper body bare and still glistening with water. He had returned from a full day of work in the fields. After the incident where he had been kicked out of the house for filling every corner of it with the smell of his sweat, he had made it a strict habit to bathe thoroughly before stepping inside.

The faint scent of something cooking drifted from the kitchen, unfamiliar but carrying heat with it.

"I have prepared a new dish. It’s called curry," Ezekiel announced from inside, her voice carrying an excitement that was almost suspicious in its enthusiasm. She quickly poured the curry into a bowl and sprinted out to the hall where Tristan was drying himself with a towel.

"Here, tell me how it is." She extended the spoon toward him, filled generously with the dish, and stood before him with the expression of someone anticipating a great triumph.

He immediately flinched, his eyes going wide and unsteady as though it were not a spoon she was holding but a drawn blade.

"Ce-Celestia, are you sure it is supposed to be this color?" he asked with a visible gulp. A thick purple liquid sat on the spoon, emitting fumes of black smoke that curled steadily upward. Bubbles broke across its surface at irregular intervals, each one releasing a faint hiss before vanishing.

"It should be yellow," Ezekiel replied after a brief moment of thought. She tilted her head slightly, unconcerned. "But what does color matter, anyway. The taste is what counts."

Tristan found himself caught in a genuine dilemma. If he refused the spoon, he had no doubt she would use it as a weapon and drive it into his mouth regardless. If he accepted it willingly, he was equally certain he would not survive the poisoning. Neither path looked promising.

"Have you tasted it yourself?" he asked after a moment of careful deliberation.

"Not yet," Ezekiel replied brightly. "I want you to have the first taste."

"No can do. Ladies first," he said, and without further ceremony he grabbed her hand and shoved the spoon squarely into her mouth.

A silence followed. He watched her with a perfectly straight face.

Slowly, the color began to rise in Ezekiel’s face. The red crept from her neck upward, reaching her cheeks and then the whites of her eyes. Thin fumes began curling from her ears like a kettle reaching its limit.

"Water! Water! Water!" she screamed, spinning on her heel and bolting back toward the kitchen.

She seized the nearest pitcher and chugged glass after glass, pausing only to pour one directly over her face. Still the spice held its ground, unyielding and merciless.

Meanwhile, Tristan had completely lost his composure. He broke into loud, helpless laughter, one hand pointing at Ezekiel while the other clutched his stomach as it began to ache from the effort of it.

Once the heat had settled, Ezekiel turned her sharp, teary glare toward the man who was having a little too much fun at her expense.

She grabbed a bowl, filled it to the brim with curry, and declared, "It’s your turn now."

"No way in hell I’m eating that poison," Tristan snapped back, pivoting on his heel. Now that Ezekiel had already tasted her own creation, he felt no reason to hold back the word for it.

Still, knowing full well that it tasted awful was one thing. Hearing it declared poison without hesitation, right to her face, was another matter entirely.

Before Tristan could make his escape, Ezekiel’s hand had already closed around his shoulder from behind.

"Have your dinner," she announced, spinning him around and driving the spoon forward.

He shook his head aggressively. The hot curry lurched from the spoon and splashed across his bare chest.

"Ahh! It’s burning!" he shouted, frantically scrubbing at his skin with the towel.

"It spilled because of you," Ezekiel retorted. Even as the words left her mouth, a quiet pang of guilt settled in her chest at the sight of the red blooming across his skin.

She set the bowl down on the table and snatched the towel from his hand.

"Tch. You are high maintenance," she muttered, and began wiping his chest with careful, unhurried strokes.

She was standing too close to him. Close enough to feel the rhythm of his heartbeat, which was growing steadily louder with each beat, slow and certain, as though it had something to say.

Tristan leaned forward in silence until the distance between their noses narrowed to the width of a finger.

Ezekiel’s hand stilled against his chest, trembling faintly. She lifted her blue eyes and met the auburn of his.

"You are too cl—"

Before the words could finish leaving her mouth, Tristan closed the remaining distance and pressed his lips to hers.

When he pulled back, Ezekiel stared at him, her glare intact but her voice barely above a whisper.

"S-such effrontery!"

She held his gaze. His eyes were heavy and unashamed, watching her without a trace of hesitation. After a long moment, she rose slightly onto her heels and sealed his lips with her own.

They parted, then came together again. Again parted, again kissed, over and over in small and quiet intervals, until the pauses between them stopped altogether.

Tristan slid one hand behind her thighs and lifted her, her legs locking around him. He moved toward the bedroom, his lips never leaving hers, and pulled the door shut behind them.