Ashes of the Elite-Chapter 37: Quick Talk

I step into her room, and the first thing I notice is how warm it feels compared to the cold stone corridors. A small candle flickers on the desk, casting soft, dancing shadows on the walls. The room is small but cozy—lived-in. A deep blue carpet covers the stone floor, softening each step. Her bed sits in the center of the room, piled with an absurd amount of blankets and pillows, all slightly messy from her just getting out of it.

To the right, there's a small wooden desk and chair, neat but cluttered with papers, and what looks like an old, leather-bound book. On the opposite wall, to the left, there's a tall, full-sized mirror, polished so clean I can see both of us reflected in its glow. Next to the desk, I catch sight of an open closet—inside, her inquisitor uniforms hangs pressed and pristine, but I also spot softer, more personal clothes laid folded underneath.

I stand there for a second, taking it all in, and it hits me—this is the first time I've ever been in a girl's room.

Before I can get lost in that thought, she brushes past me, the faint scent of her stirring in the air, and closes the door softly behind us. She turns around, her face still flushed beet red, arms crossed in front of her.

Her voice comes out in a rush, half-whispered but tinged with a tinge of disbelief. "Ayato, what the hell are you doing here? It's the middle of the night!"

I just sigh, running a hand through my hair. "I wanted to talk to you."

I rub the back of my neck, feeling like an idiot, but I force myself to meet her eyes. "I was... in the area," I mutter, trying to sound casual. "I thought I'd stop by and see if you were here. Lucky for me... you are."

She just stares at me, and for a moment I think she's going to yell at me. But instead, her lips tug up into a small, teasing smile. Her eyes soften in that way they do—warm and a little too gentle for someone in her position. "Ahh... so you missed me that much, huh? Used rank and power to come find me in the dead of night?"

I can't help but chuckle, shaking my head. "Something like that."

The words leave my mouth before I even think, and then I glance at her again—and that's when it hits me. Her thin nightgown clings to her frame in the candlelight, and suddenly I'm painfully aware of how... very female she is. I look away fast, swallowing hard, my face heating up.

She notices. I can tell by the way her blush deepens as she glances down at herself. She lets out a breathy little laugh, tugging at the hem of her gown. "You... um... you can sit on the bed. We can talk."

I nod stiffly, crossing the room in three quick steps and sitting down on the edge of her bed. The blankets are soft beneath me, and everything smells faintly like lavender and cinnamon. I sit there, staring down at my hands, suddenly embarrassed for storming over here like this.

I barely even know her, I think, my heart pounding. And the parts I do know? She's insane.

But then... I remember the way her eyes looked that night. Tears in those hazel eyes of hers as she cried for my parents. The quiet apology. The softness. She seems real and different to the inquisitors who killed my parents.

And I realize—I want to know her.

Cecilia pulls her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them as she watches me quietly.

She looks at me, her expression curious but gentle.

"So... what are you even doing here, Ayato?" Her voice is soft, almost amused.

I take a breath, rubbing the back of my neck. "I was out walking," I admit, my voice low. "Didn't really plan on anything. Just... wandered. And before I knew it, I was near Cain's estate again, kind of a hike from the castle, I admit."

She gives a small, soft laugh. "You're going to regret this when you're dead tired tomorrow."

I can't help but smirk a little. "Yeah... probably."

My smile fades. The weight I've been carrying presses down on me again. I stare at the floor, then speak before I can second-guess myself. "I went back to the outskirts."

The amusement in her face vanishes, her eyes widening with quiet concern.

"You... went back there?" She says softly. "Why?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I guess I needed to see it. Needed to remind myself." My voice gets quieter. "It hit me hard. Watching them fight, scavenge... steal. It was my life, not even a year ago, a life I lived for almost a decade. And now I'm..." I trail off, trying to find the words.

She waits, her face gentle.

I let out a slow, shaky breath. "That I'm not that person anymore. That street rat scraping by on scraps—he's gone. I actually like being an Elite." "And I hate that part of me does."

The bed shifts behind me. Before I can react, I feel her arms slip around my torso, her cheek resting gently between my shoulder blades. Her voice is soft, but there's no hesitation, no performance—just honesty.

"Ayato... It's okay. You're allowed to feel that way. You deserve better than scraps. You deserve to live."

I squeeze my eyes shut. Her words hit deeper than I expected. For a moment, I just sit there, letting her hold me... And I realize how much I needed to hear that.

I let out a shaky breath, my words catching in my throat. "I... I hate that part of me likes this. The power, the comfort, the respect. It feels like I'm betraying them." My voice cracks a little. "My parents died... for harboring an enemy Elite. Traitors to the Crown. And here I am... becoming part of the very system they died resisting."

I pause, swallowing hard. My throat is dry. "And then there's you." I stumble over the words, cheeks burning. "I... liking you—I feel like I'm letting them down somehow. They hated all this. And they didn't even trust me enough to tell me what they were doing, but I guess since I was a kid, they wouldn't, huh?" My voice cracks. "They left me alone. And now I'm here, part of something they would have spat on."

Cecilia doesn't let go. Her arms tighten around me, her voice soft and sincere.

"Ayato... Your parents made their choices, and bad ones at that. But you are allowed to make yours. It doesn't dishonor them to live. It doesn't betray them to... care about someone." Her breath is warm against my back. "They loved you. I'm sure of that. But you deserve to be happy—on your own terms regardless of what they did." "You are an elite now; you owe them nothing.

I clench my fists in my lap. "I'm scared," I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them. "Lusa. The Academy. Everyone's got these expectations. Three marks of power—like I'm supposed to be someone more than I am. I don't even know who that is."

Cecilia shifts her warm breath against my neck. "You don't have to know yet," she whispers. "It's okay to be scared. And I'm sorry I'm one of those people putting expectations on you... I just—" she pauses—"I "just want to see you happy. And be true to yourself. That's all."

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Slowly, I lean back into her touch, letting my weight settle against her. We sit like that for a while, her arms around me, her fingers tracing idle patterns along my hands.

I let the silence stretch, just breathing her in, feeling her warmth against my back.

But after a few minutes, I can't stop myself. My voice is soft, almost uncertain.

"What do you... honestly expect from me, Cecilia?"

She doesn't answer right away. I feel her breath on the back of my head, warm and steady, and then she speaks—so softly I almost miss it.

"I believe," she murmurs against the crown of my head, "with all my heart... that you're a sign of great change." Her fingers still for a moment before continuing to trace lazy circles on my skin. "Three marks of power... Ayato, that's never happened before. Not in recorded history. You weren't born ordinary. And I know... I know that's a heavy thing to place on someone's shoulders. So once again, I'm sorry for that. I really am."

She exhales slowly. "But I think you could change this Empire. Maybe even the world." Her voice rises, and I can feel how much she means it. "Some Inquisitors can be cruel. I won't lie to you about that. The power to police seven nations... it goes to the heads of men and women who forget they're servants of something higher. But that's not why I was thrilled to join. That's not what this was supposed to be."

She rests her chin lightly on my shoulder. "The original Archbishop Aren wrote that the order's purpose is to follow the Divine's will; that proclamation has been passed down for centuries; it's the core of our teachings. And I... I believe that's what I'm doing. Putting my faith in you." She squeezes my hand gently. "The person the Divine chose above everyone else in history."

I sit there, eyes unfocused, her words echoing in my mind. I've spent so long resenting everything about this life—the Empire, the Inquisitors, the power I never asked for. But... what if she's right? What if there's a reason?

What if I really was given this power not to destroy or be destroyed... but to change things?

I lean back just a little more into her, closing my eyes.

Maybe... just maybe... she's right.

I tilt my head back slightly, still resting against her, and quietly ask, "What do you mean by 'join'? I thought... The Inquisitors just found people who were nothing. Nobody's. People like the old me. Turned them into fanatics."

She goes still for a second—then lets out a breathless laugh, full of disbelief.

"Who told you that?" she says, amusement clear in her voice. "Sure, some of the Order is recruited from the slums. Orphans, lost souls looking for purpose—but not all of us. Anyone can volunteer to join as long as they are not an elite. Nobles, merchants, commoners—it doesn't matter. The only requirements for those seeking to join are approval from a bishop and a willingness to relinquish any land or noble title you hold."

I turn my head slightly to glance at her, wide-eyed. "Wait... so people actually give all that up?"

She nods, still smiling softly. "All of it. Rank, wealth, inheritance. You leave it behind to serve the Gods. That's the point."

I blink a few times, trying to wrap my head around that. "And... the training?" I ask cautiously. "What is it? Isn't it evil brainwashing?"

She laughs again, shaking her head against me. "No! Ayato, now your paranoid antisocial behavior makes sense if you believe that, no. The training is hard—extreme, maybe, for some people. But it's just that. Training. Combat, discipline, study of the laws, meditation, mental conditioning... but it's not brainwashing. We're supposed to uphold not just the Crown's laws but something higher. The Divine's will." "Also, do I seem evil and brainwashed to you?"

She pauses, then adds apologetically, "But... I can't tell you much more than that. You're not part of the Order."

I roll my eyes. "That sounds like something someone who is brainwashed would say." But now I'm rethinking all of my values. How misguided was I?

Cecilia strokes her fingers gently through my hair, her touch soft and soothing. Her voice is even softer when she speaks.

"It's not your fault, Ayato," she murmurs. "You grew up as a child hiding in the outskirts with little to no formal teachings... only knowing the Inquisitors as the ones who took your parents away. Of course you'd believe the stories people told—that we're brainwashed fanatics who steal children and twist them into weapons."

She exhales, resting her chin lightly on my head. "But it's simply not true. Again, some of us in the order are not exactly good people, sadly, and I would like to see the bad apples removed, but bad people exist in every profession; a baker could turn out to be a criminal and the Inquisitor Order stretches' across all seven nations that make up the Empire, that's hundred of thousands of people."

I stay silent, considering. Her words sitting heavy in my mind. My whole life, I've clung to this anger and hate, a hate that I don't think will ever really go away, to be honest. But I've had this image of villains and victims. But everything lately... Cain's words and how he doesn't abuse people because he can, her words and the way she seems to care, the powers I've been given—none of it fits that simple picture anymore.

I swallow. "Maybe..." My voice comes out meek. "Maybe Cain was right."

She doesn't say anything, just keeps gently running her fingers through my hair.

I close my eyes. "The world isn't black and white."

And for the first time, I really think I believe it.

After a while I reluctantly pull myself up from where I'm leaning against her, dragging in a slow breath. "I should head back," I mumble, wishing I didn't. "I feel a lot better after talking with you... But if I don't get back to the castle before training starts, Cain's gonna skin me alive, and it's quite the jog from this part of Lont; this city is too damn big."

Cecilia flops onto her back with a dramatic sigh, her gown clinging to her curves, thin fabric leaving almost nothing to the imagination. My eyes betray me, lingering a second too long, and I quickly look away—but not before my brain burns the image into memory.

She groans playfully. "You don't have to go," she says, her voice soft but teasing. "You could stay here with me. Get a carriage at dawn that would be more comfortable than running back."

I chuckle weakly. "Cain's brutalizing starts before first light, Cecilia. You don't know the half of it."

She pouts, pushing herself up on her knees, and I start debating if Cain is even really that important. The neckline of her gown dips low—too low—her cleavage practically on full display.

She smirks wickedly. "You've never been late before. I'm sure he'll forgive you... if it's for getting some proper rest."

I curse internally. Why are you like this? Why are you this fine?

"I really shouldn't," I say, my voice strained.

She tilts her head, her smile anything but innocent. "You need sleep, Ayato. I can tell you're exhausted."

"Regardless of how true that is, I really don't want Cain on my ass."

I stand there, arguing with myself—logic telling me to leave my training is important and Cain's bitching for missing it will be annoying as all hell, but the other side is telling me to stay and that blonde-haired bastard can get over it—when she suddenly leans forward and presses her lips against mine. Soft, warm, and patient.

I exhale shakily against her mouth.

"Fuck it," I say, feeling my resolve crumble.

My fingers find the clasp of my robe at my throat, and I unlatch it, letting the fabric fall from my shoulders.