"I am frankly disappointed with those my age who behave immaturely in the presence of the Heavenly Monarch. Yet I have seen my sister consort with the traitor himself."
His gaze swept across the assembly below, and a small, knowing smile touched his lips. "If my words seem doubtful, why not hear them in front of the deities of judgment themselves?"
Murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd, uneasy glances exchanged among them. Suddenly, they forced a representative forward—Thales.
Michael looked to his side, unprepared for the move. As he felt the weight of their sharp stares, he took a slow, steadying breath and calmed his racing mind.
With unflinching courage, Thales met Michael's eyes. "We believe your words, o God of Archangels. It would be rude of us to question you further."
Helios observed the young man's composure, noting a striking resemblance to Oliver in both courage and calmness. Glancing at his secretary, he saw a proud smile playing across his face.
'He has the eye of a merchant, but he is a politician, not a tradesman. What am I thinking?' Helios's expression remained unreadable.
"I am at a loss for words. Please, continue."
Michael resumed his seat and sipped his tea with the same serene composure, dismissing the bold reply as if it were a trivial interruption. The assembly returned to their petty debates, exchanging cutting words and clever retorts, entirely oblivious to whether Irene was safe—or even still present.
.
.
.
Irene's hands trembled slightly as she looked up at Drake. "Drake… why did you… why did you take me out like that? I don't understand. What if someone had seen us?"
Drake's eyes, darkened with thought, softened slightly at her words. "Irene, do you think I would risk your safety for anything less than necessity? The court, the factions—they would not hesitate to see harm done to you." His voice was low, firm, carrying the weight of unspoken battles.
"But… but you didn't answer me before. You were so quiet. I could have… I could have been left behind," she said, her voice catching.
He released a slow breath, relaxing slightly. "I did not speak because words would have slowed us. Every second mattered. You see, even the smallest sound could draw attention. Trust that my silence was protection."
Irene's gaze softened as she studied his face. "And yet… your hands left marks on me," she whispered, showing him the redness on her wrist.
Drake's eyes darkened with regret. "Forgive me. I… I did not intend to hurt you. I gripped too tightly in my haste and fear."
Her fingers brushed his hand briefly before resting on his cheek, tilting his face toward hers. "Drake… if you risk yourself for me, you must at least let me understand. Why did you go to such lengths?"
He lowered his gaze, closing his eyes in quiet resignation. "Irene… there are powers at play you cannot yet perceive. Forces that would see you as a pawn, or worse. I cannot allow that. Someday, you will understand, but I fear the explanation now may only frighten you."
Irene studied him, her brows furrowed. "I… I don't know if I should be angry or grateful." She paused, letting her hands linger on his face. "You frighten me, Drake, but… I trust you."
He opened his eyes slowly, meeting her gaze with an intensity that sent a shiver through her. "Trust is all I ask. Everything else… will follow in time."
They moved through the garden, the barrier shimmering behind them, until they reached a quiet grove where the scent of jasmine and roses mingled. Drake finally released his grip. Instead of stepping back, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders briefly in a protective embrace.
"Are you certain you are unharmed?" he asked again, his voice softer this time.
"I am… thanks to you," Irene murmured, resting her hands lightly on his chest. She felt the steady beat of his heart and sensed the tension beneath his composed exterior. "But… why did you look so troubled while we were walking?"
Drake's expression darkened as he remembered the faces of those in the courtroom. "Even while guiding you, my mind raced with the possibilities. I must anticipate every danger, every chance that someone might see you taken. It is… exhausting."
She tilted her head, concern in her eyes. "Do you always carry so much burden?"
He gave a faint, wry smile. "The burden chooses me, not the other way around."
Irene hesitated, then said softly, "Drake… promise me you will not carry it alone."
He looked down at her, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features. "Irene… even I must bear certain burdens alone. But your words… they give me strength I cannot deny."
*
*
*
「Flashback」
Michael laid Irene gently on the bed, ensuring her comfort before sitting across from her, his arms folded but tense. Peter and a pair of loyal knights stood just behind him, silent but watchful. The room was quiet except for the faint rustle of the curtains as a breeze whispered through the garden-facing window.
Irene stirred slightly, blinking at the gathered figures. "Michael… what is happening? Why am I here? Did… did someone… hurt me?"
Michael's eyes narrowed, scanning her face for injuries, but he maintained a calm, measured tone. "You were taken from the palace, Celestial Saint. Tell me everything you remember, from the moment you left the courtroom."
Irene's brow furrowed as she recalled the events. "I… I only remember Drake guiding me out. We… we moved through a barrier, and then… nothing. My memory is blank after that."
Michael's jaw tightened. "The barrier… Drake did this?" His voice was low, carrying an edge of suspicion.
Irene nodded. "Yes… but he was careful. He whispered something, and the barrier moved. He saved me." Her voice trembled slightly.
Peter exchanged a glance with Michael, sensing the tension beneath his calm demeanor. "He is not merely a simple ally," Peter said softly. "To breach a protective barrier like that… only someone skilled in Primeval-grade magic could manage it."
Michael's eyes darkened. "Yes. That is what troubles me. His skill is undeniable, but his methods… reckless. To carry you openly through the garden, unobserved, while showing his strength—he has revealed too much, too quickly."
Irene tilted her head. "Are you… angry at him?"
Michael's expression softened momentarily, then hardened again. "Not at him… but at the situation. A god who underestimates the court's vigilance is dangerous, whether friend or foe." He paused, his eyes locking onto hers. "Do you understand how fragile your safety was, Irene? One misstep, and…" He left the sentence hanging, letting the weight of the unspoken threat fill the room.
Irene shivered, her hands clenching the bedcovers. "I… I understand, Michael. I… I don't want to be a burden to anyone."
Michael's expression softened slightly. "You are not a burden. But your life… your safety… cannot be left to chance. That is why I selected twelve knights, personally loyal to you, to guard you henceforth. Every possible weakness has been addressed. You are protected, Celestial Saint."
Peter stepped forward. "We also need to know if anyone else was involved. Did Drake act alone, or was there a conspiracy? Anything unusual about the way he behaved—hesitation, nervousness, anger?"
Irene thought for a moment. "He… seemed… tense. His grip was strong, almost too strong. His eyes… they were dark, like he was thinking about everything at once. He didn't speak much, but… I could feel his worry. It… it wasn't ordinary worry. It was deeper, heavier."
Michael's fingers flexed. "Then his purpose is twofold: protect you and assert his presence. He has shown both skill and audacity. That is… troubling." He stood abruptly, the movement precise and controlled. "I need to understand why he would risk so much in so blatant a manner. Peter, prepare to summon him. He must answer for his methods and reveal his intent. Nothing less."
Irene's eyes widened. "Summon… him? But Michael, he saved me! He didn't harm anyone!"
Michael's eyes met hers, firm but not unkind. "I do not question his loyalty. But even the most well-intentioned actions can have consequences. He must be questioned. Knowledge is safety."
A silence fell over the room as Peter bowed and left to carry out Michael's command. The knights remained still, their presence a silent shield around the Celestial Saint.
Irene finally spoke again, voice barely a whisper. "Do… do you think he could be trusted?"
Michael leaned back slightly, eyes closing as he considered her question. "Trust is earned, not assumed. His actions suggest courage and skill… but recklessness is a dangerous companion. Until he explains his purpose fully, one cannot know the full measure of his character."
Her hands rested lightly on the blanket, trembling slightly as she looked toward the window. "I… I only know that he protected me. That is all I know."
Michael opened his eyes, his gaze softening just enough to reassure her. "That may be enough for now. But remember this, Irene: power without restraint is as dangerous as malice. We will ensure that your protectors are not merely strong, but wise. That includes him."
A subtle tension lingered in the room, a mixture of relief, fear, and anticipation. Michael's mind raced, calculating possibilities, predicting outcomes, and preparing contingencies. His wrath simmered beneath his calm exterior, ready to be unleashed at the slightest hint of betrayal or threat.
Outside the window, the garden seemed serene, its flowers swaying gently in the breeze, oblivious to the schemes and dangers that swirled within the palace walls. Inside, Irene's breathing slowly steadied, unaware that the threads of fate around her were being tightly woven into a new, perilous design.
*
*
*
Michael sipped his tea, the warmth a small comfort against the chaos of the assembly. Around him, the debate had descended into petty quarrels, insults tossed carelessly, far from any meaningful purpose. Thales leaned against a marble pillar, watching quietly, detached from the noise.
"You chatterbox! Of course, a chicken would chatter!" a sharp voice rang out.
Several gods chuckled, some covering their mouths to hide grins. Pyrros, wiping a tear of amusement from his eye, leaned forward. "I apologize," he said lightly, a sly smirk on his lips, "but his words are… entertaining. Tell me, young one: is foolishness your profession, or a natural gift?"
Those familiar with Pyrros' sharp tongue stiffened, recalling past insults. Michael's jaw tightened; he had endured similar ridicule, and defying Pyrros was unthinkable given the protection of his elder brother Naide.
The hall buzzed with tension as insults flew like arrows, but Michael remained partially detached, savoring the sweetness of his tea. After a third serving, he set it down and drummed his fingers lightly on the armrest, scanning the hall. His brow furrowed.
"She's not there," he muttered.
He repeated it under his breath, fists tightening. Minutes stretched, and finally, he gripped the armrests and rose. Silence fell.
"I apologize, but I must announce… the Celestial Saint has disappeared."
The assembly froze. Younger gods turned toward Irene's seat, alarm spreading.
"O Heavenly Ruler! The Celestial Saint is gone!" someone cried.
"I am not deaf, apprentice of the God of Blacksmiths," Helios said, his glare freezing the hall. With a subtle nod to Oliver, the younger god vanished and reappeared beside Irene's empty seat.
Whispers spread, worry mounting. Michael's hands clasped behind his back, veins tightening with restrained fury. Oliver moved across the marble floor, tracing faint sigils, then returned to Helios to whisper his findings.
"Servants of order and justice," Helios commanded, voice echoing, "heed my command."
Michael bowed his head, hand on his chest, mirrored by the others. "Find the Celestial Saint."
"Understood!" came the chorus.
Squads spread out under Helios' command, but Michael, guided by instinct, moved swiftly toward the forbidden gardens. There, he found Irene, unconscious on the dew-soaked grass, veins blackened as though poisoned. Dark liquid seeped from her mouth, eating through her garment.
Carefully, he manifested a long white cloth imbued with protective essence, wrapping her form. Sliding his arms beneath her neck and knees, he lifted her with precise strength, each movement careful to avoid further harm.
A vein pulsed at his temple, fury radiating from him. His exterior remained calm, but beneath it, a storm of wrath simmered, restrained only by his focus on her safety.