Bruno sat wearily under the towering wall of the massive sandpit, surrounded by the relentless training activities of the other fighters. Each breath was a struggle, his lungs aflame from the intense sprint he had just completed. Finally, he was reintegrating into a proper training regimen, alongside his fellow combatants. The flickering light of the flames cast dancing shadows that brought life to the training grounds.

To Bruno's surprise, Mamadou joined him, settling on the sand beside him.

"You shouldn't sit. Walking is better," Mamadou advised.

Unable to respond, Bruno nodded, his gasps for air resonating through the open expanse. He usually avoided breathing with his mouth wide open, given the pungent scent of sweat and the swirling dust in the air.

"I'll remember that," the young alchemist finally managed to wheeze out between labored breaths. He already knew the benefits of walking, but his weakened legs made him wary of collapsing.

Moments passed, and Mamadou remained by his side, indicating a genuine desire to talk. Patiently waiting for Bruno to recover his composure, the teacher wanted to ensure their conversation would be meaningful.

"Do you want to talk, teacher?" Bruno inquired once he regained some control over his breath.

"Yes," Mamadou confirmed.

"About what? Did I do something?" The boy asked, unable to hide his surprise.

"Yes, you did. You proved yourself," the trainer replied.

"Proved?" Bruno questioned, his astonishment evident.

"The people who brought you here asked the boss to ensure that you would die. Many people meet that fate in due time, but in your case, their intentions were crystal clear. For the boss, it's just business—neither agreement nor disagreement. Yet, in the world of business, sometimes you have to do a favor for those you're dealing with. Considering your condition, there was a good chance you wouldn't survive anyway."

"But I made it," Bruno exclaimed.

"Yes, you did. I was given the task of deciding your fate, and I must admit that I had considered just throwing you to The Pit. However, your unwavering determination despite being pushed to the brink of exhaustion, and your refusal to give up, made me hesitate. Then, in your sparring sessions, I caught glimpses of your hidden talent. The more I observed, the more I discovered, and I no longer wish for you to be thrown aside to die."

With those words, Mamadou patted Bruno on the shoulder before rising to his feet. He departed to check on the progress of the other fighters, leaving Bruno to contemplate the weight of his newfound opportunity.

Hasib stood behind the princess, who sat before a grand mirror resting upon a desk adorned with an array of unfamiliar objects. To him, they seemed strange, but others would easily recognize them as cosmetics: powders, ointments, various brushes, combs of different shapes and sizes, and a multitude of accessories like brooches, ribbons, and, of course, a dazzling array of jewelry.

In the mirror's reflection, one could not only admire the princess's captivating face but also catch a glimpse of the window in the tower. The sun timidly peeked out from behind a puffy white cloud, casting a soft glow upon the scene.

Hasib held an exquisite comb in his hand, crafted from ivory, its handle adorned with delicate carvings on both sides. It was undeniably beautiful and undoubtedly valuable.

The princess wore a dark blue dress, and her expression suddenly shifted. Just moments ago, she had smiled as she requested his assistance in brushing her hair, but now her smile had vanished. She remained motionless, except for the subtle rise and fall of her breath, with both hands placed gently on her thighs.

It surprised Hasib, but he had a task to complete, so, though hesitantly, he began to slowly comb her dark hair, the teeth of the comb delicately gliding through the strands. Her head moved ever so slightly, but there was no other response.

"Like this, princess?" he asked, mustering a smile.

Her silence persisted. In the mirror's reflection, he could see her eyes devoid of their usual sparkle. It was as if someone had stolen her soul, leaving behind only an empty shell.

"Princess... Like this?" he asked again, repeating the motion.

Still, there was no response. Confusion enveloped Hasib. He knew two sides of the princess—her cheerful demeanor when she tried on different dresses and experimented with makeup, both on herself and him, which he found peculiar yet enjoyable. Then there was the other side, the angry one, when she would scream and refuse to eat. But lately, even that side had disappeared.

Now, it was as if she wasn't truly present.

After a moment, Hasib finally noticed that she hadn't blinked throughout their interaction. She stared unblinkingly at her own reflection, lost in a world of mindlessness.

"Princess, can you hear me?" he asked once more.

Still, she remained silent.

"I'm going to find Vere," Hasib declared, gently placing the comb on the desk, and began making his way toward the door.

As his hand grasped the handle, she finally spoke.

"Where are you going?" confusion painted across her face.

He glanced back over his shoulder and noticed her furrowed eyebrows and slightly open mouth.

"You were supposed to brush my hair," she reminded him.

"B-but... Yes, princess," he stammered, bowing slightly, and retraced his steps to retrieve the comb.

Glancing at the reflection, he noticed a change in her expression. She now wore a smile, tinged with a hint of excitement, eagerly awaiting his first move. Her fingers grasped a section of her dress, nervously playing with it, revealing her underlying anticipation. It was a first for Hasib, for all he could recall were memories of her exuding confidence in everything she did.

"Go ahead," she encouraged him.

As he touched her hair, she had to bite her lip to conceal her excitement from his touch. Hasib carefully guided the teeth of the comb through her silky strands, pulling downward with deliberate slowness. His attention shifted from his own movements to the subtle changes in her expression.

For some inexplicable reason, Hasib couldn't help but see the princess as someone much younger now. In his eyes, she transformed from a young lady into a vulnerable child, though he couldn't quite discern why or how this perception had shifted.