Chancellor Ardelio did not wake up from a noise, but from a strange sensation.
As if the air in his cell had suddenly grown thinner. He opened his eyes and slowly looked around the cold, damp room in which he had been confined for the past two days.
Unexpectedly, a figure stood before him. The chancellor slowly sat up on the straw mattress. In the corner, shrouded in shadow, sat a man—tall, hunched, with a face of stone.
And Gregory Ardelio recognized him. Of course he did.
"Well, isn't this a surprise," the official said, rubbing his eyes. "Or did I finally die, and this is one of the underworld's tasteless jokes?"
The stranger—though not so much a stranger—slowly turned.
Michael Carter, known as the man made of stone, and currently the head of the powerful House Carter. His icy blue eyes met those of the chancellor.
"Good evening, Lord Ardelio," the duke said, his expression unreadable.
The chancellor gave a crooked smile.
"Your Grace, to what do I owe the honor of your company in a place like this?"
"Lord Ardelio, I was about to ask you the same thing."
Ardelio chuckled.
Meanwhile, Duke Carter remained silent, his face impassive as ever. For a few moments, the only sound in the cell was the quiet dripping of water from a crack in the ceiling.
Then Michael Carter pulled a thin cigarette from his inner jacket pocket and lit it. His movements were precise, as always—like a man not sitting on straw in a prison cell, but presiding over a meeting in the Imperial Palace.
The chancellor sat up, unable to hide his surprise.
"You still have the mood to smoke in a situation like this?" he asked, genuinely taken aback.
"Why not? Cigarettes help me keep a clear head. Would you like one?"
"No, thank you. I don't smoke."
"As you wish," the duke replied flatly.
He sat in silence, inhaling smoke. The cell fell quiet again. Ardelio studied him with open curiosity.
"You're remarkably calm, Your Grace. We are clearly here against our will. And yet you're just... smoking?"
"Because I know that panicking won't change anything," the duke said calmly.
"You don't seem surprised to be here," Ardelio noted, stepping closer.
"I'm not."
"Hm. I was betrayed by the empire I served for over thirty years. And what happened to you?" the official asked, studying the duke's face closely. But not even an eyebrow twitched.
Michael Carter nodded briefly, as if responding to a military report.
"I encountered some... complications."
"Complications? Heh. I've noticed," Ardelio smirked.
A pause followed. The air smelled of damp and old stone, a smell that had already begun giving the chancellor headaches over the past two days. Eventually, he stood up, clasped his hands behind his back, and began pacing the cell.
"It seems we both have... complications," he muttered. "They want to erase us. But I have no intention of sitting here with my hands folded."
He stopped and looked directly at the duke.
"Your Grace, we've never been allies. But now we're in the same pit. Don't you think so? In this situation, if we act alone, we're unlikely to succeed."
Duke Carter tapped the ash from his cigarette and squinted slightly.
"Lord Ardelio, are you proposing an alliance?"
"I'm proposing a temporary alignment of interests," the chancellor corrected with a crooked smile. "A clever man like you must understand what I mean. This might be our last chance to restore what we've lost."
Silence fell again. Only the sound of burning tobacco and faint scraping behind the door could be heard.
"Do you have a plan?" the duke finally asked.
Chancellor Ardelio smiled—more genuinely than he had in days.
"Not yet. But with two heads as sharp as ours, I'm sure we'll come up with something. Old man Carter, it's time to get out of here, wouldn't you agree?"
Michael Carter stubbed his cigarette out on the wall. He studied the chancellor closely, then slowly rose to his feet.
"Then I'll count on your support, Chancellor Ardelio," he said slowly.
"Hah. The feeling is mutual, Your Grace."
They exchanged looks and nodded. From that moment, the two men decided to combine their efforts—to escape together.
***
Two silhouettes stood at the very edge of a deep ravine—one clinging to life, the other trying to save him.
"Hold on!" the young man shouted, reaching out his hand. "Caesius, hold on— do you hear me?!"
One of the brothers was hanging over the abyss, clutching with both hands to a root sticking out from the cliffside. His fingers had turned white from the strain, blood trickling down his wrist where a sharp stone had cut deep into his skin.
The second brother lay flat on his stomach, covered in dust, gripping the rock with one hand and desperately stretching the other toward his brother. His fingers were barely a hand's width away.
"Reach out!" he shouted. "I'll pull you up—just... just reach for me!"
"It's useless," the other rasped, gasping for breath. "This root won't hold my weight. Don't risk yourself."
He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth from the pain.
"No — I will save you!" the second brother yelled. "Just hold on!"
"Listen..." the first brother's voice grew weaker. "Promise me... you must look after my wife. Gerda. And our unborn child..."
"No! Don't say that!"
"Promise me, Aiden..."
The second brother froze as a faint smile appeared on his brother's lips.
"Don't say that!" he cried, inching closer, trying desperately to grasp his brother's hand. "I'll pull you up, do you hear me?! Just trust me—reach out!"
The first brother trembled and tried to move. His fingers began to slide along the root, which creaked ominously under the strain. Chunks of earth and dust crumbled away, falling into the black abyss below.
Their fingers were close. Almost touching.
But then —
Snap.
The root, which had held his life this long, finally gave way. In an instant, it tore free—and the first brother fell.
"NO!" the second brother screamed, almost falling in after him, but caught himself at the last second, hanging by his elbows. His hand remained outstretched into the empty void, trembling helplessly.
His brother's body plunged into the endless darkness.
And then—nothing.
***
The Emperor woke with a gasp, as if he had just broken the surface of a deep sea. Cold sweat covered his forehead, and his body trembled. The image he'd just seen still lingered before his eyes—the same nightmare that had haunted him for years.
"It was just a dream..." he whispered, clutching his chest.
The room around him was dim. Heavy curtains blocked all light. The strong scent of medicine hung in the air.
Suddenly, the emperor looked up—and froze.
In the corner of the room stood a silhouette. Slowly, it moved toward him.
"Caesius...?" he whispered.
In the faint light, he could make out silver hair and golden eyes. Could it be—was it truly his brother? Had he come for him?
"Brother... is it really you?" the emperor's voice cracked. "You came for me?"
Silence. The figure said nothing. It only stood and watched him silently.
At last, the emperor reached out—a weak, trembling hand, as if that single motion carried the last of his strength.
"Brother... I promised you... I swore..."
His final breath was ragged. His lips trembled, as if they wanted to say something else—but never did.
His body went limp. His hand fell.
Silence filled the room as the ruler of the Nadal Empire exhaled his final breath.