Chapter Text
The morning sun filtered through the window in soft, honeyed slats, warming the room where they had woken up together in the same bed. After the quiet murmur of pillow talk—words that felt lighter and truer in the safety of the dawn—and a simple breakfast shared in comfortable silence, Gilbert prepared for his day.
He hadn’t expected Violet to follow, but when he reached for his coat, she was already standing by the door, her expression a familiar blend of devotion and newfound curiosity.
"I would like to accompany you, Major," she said.
They walked together through the settlement, the air smelling of salt and blooming gorse. "After wandering aimlessly for so long, I simply ended up here," Gilbert explained as they navigated the dirt paths. "The locals offered me work. Since I knew how to read and write, some of the older men asked if I would teach their children. The literacy rate is quite low here; it’s a gift I could actually give back."
When they reached the makeshift clearing used for his lessons, a dozen children were already gathered. Their chatter died down instantly, replaced by wide-eyed stares at the elegant woman standing beside their teacher.
"Mister Gilbert," one of the older boys piped up, pointing a dusty finger. "Who is she?"
Gilbert looked at Violet. The morning light caught the emerald at her throat—the one he had given her. A small, proud smile touched his lips. "She is my fiancé."
"Really?" the children echoed in a chorus of disbelief and awe.
Violet remained outwardly composed, but internally, she felt a sudden, rhythmic thudding against her ribs. Her hand rose instinctively to her chest; her pulse had quickened at the sound of the word. Fiancée. It carried a weight far different from Auto Memory Doll or Soldier.
The children, however, were quickly distracted by their usual antics. "Mister Gilbert, race us!" a young girl challenged, tugging at his sleeve. "You’re the fastest one here!"
It was true; Gilbert was athletic and held a commanding lead in most of their games. But then the girl looked at Violet. "We want the lady to race, too!"
Gilbert stiffened. He had a reputation to uphold, and while he was a grown man, he had no intention of losing face in front of his students—especially not to the woman he was trying to impress.
"Ah, no," Gilbert said quickly, holding up a hand. "We are both very tired today. Perhaps some other day."
Violet tilted her head, her gaze clear and literal. "I am not tired, Major."
Gilbert cleared his throat, feeling a bead of sweat that had nothing to do with the sun. "I... I was supposed to teach you all about geography yesterday," he interjected, steering the children toward the wooden benches. "We should do that today instead. We simply don’t have time for a race."
A collective, disappointed sigh went up from the group, but they eventually settled down. Gilbert exhaled in a long, silent breath of relief. He knew the truth: Violet was far faster than he could ever hope to be. If they had run, his students would have spent the next month making fun of the "slow" teacher who got dusted by his fiancée.
As the lesson began, Violet stood at the periphery, watching him. She listened intently as Gilbert spoke of the world beyond the island, describing the jagged, snow-capped peaks of the mainland.
"But even those," Gilbert said, pointing to a hand-drawn map, "are dwarfed by the ranges elsewhere. The continents of Cherinka and Udan have peaks that pierce the very clouds, higher than anything we have ever seen."
The children listened with rapt attention, their world expanding with every word he spoke. When the sun climbed higher and the lesson finally ended, the kids dispersed, shouting and chasing each other into the tall grass.
Violet walked over to him as he packed away his charcoal and papers. "I didn't know you were a fast runner, Major," she said softly.
Gilbert gave a sheepish, self-deprecating laugh. "I am fast by normal human standards, Violet. But compared to you?"
He looked at her, a flash of memory returning—the way she used to move across a battlefield like a blur of silver and steel, leaving him struggling to even keep her in his line of sight.
"I remember what it was like trying to keep up with you during the war," he admitted, reaching out to take her hand. "I think my dignity is safer if we keep the racing to a minimum."