Stopping a little distance ahead of him, Solomon looked at Azriel with the same mischievous eyes he always had.
Ragnar, on the other hand, didn't spare him a single glance as his ice-blue eyes swept across the training ground.
The moment the soldiers met Ragnar's gaze, it felt like a cold bucket of water had been poured over them, snapping them out of their shock.
"I greet King Ragnar and Saint Solomon!"
All the soldiers straightened their backs, striking their right fists against their chests before bowing their heads.
'Did I just hear someone's bone crack?'
As Azriel thought this, Ragnar's voice sliced through the air, sending a shiver down his spine.
"Leave. Now."
The moment he spoke, the soldiers scattered, hurriedly clearing the training ground. Only Azriel, Ragnar, and Solomon remained—Solomon watching everything unfold with an amused smile.
The air grew tense as Ragnar finally looked at Azriel. He said nothing at first, his expression unreadable.
'What the hell is this...'
Unable to bear the silence, Azriel met Ragnar's eyes, trying to smile.
"You look like you've seen a ghost, Uncle Ragnar."
He tried to lighten the mood, but Ragnar's piercing stare felt as though he was peering into his soul.
'Was the joke too soon?'
Sensing the tension, Solomon chuckled and broke in.
"See! Told you he's become much livelier."
Ragnar hummed in response, stepping closer to Azriel, who tensed.
'Solomon convinced him that I'm not a skinwalker, right?'
Panic stirred inside Azriel. He was ready to bolt—if that would've even worked.
But then—
'Huh?'
Azriel blinked, bewildered, as Ragnar suddenly placed both hands on his shoulders.
"It really is you, huh? To think you were actually alive all this time," Ragnar said softly, a small smile forming on his face.
"Yeah..."
That was all Azriel could manage in the moment.
He sighed with relief, realizing his fears had been unfounded.
Ragnar turned and began walking away.
"Come. We should go somewhere more comfortable. We have a lot to talk about."
*****
Azriel sat behind a table, staring curiously at the plate of rice and fried chicken in front of him. Ragnar and Solomon were seated across from him, watching.
"I thought you must be hungry after everything that happened, so I asked them to prepare something. Unfortunately, there wasn't much better to serve here," Ragnar explained, noticing Azriel's look.
'Anything better?'
Azriel fought the urge to drool. He hadn't realized how hungry he actually was.
He couldn't even remember the last proper meal he'd had—even in his previous life, not since his family died.
"You don't need to worry, Uncle Ragnar. This is plenty."
Saying that, he picked up the spoon and took a bite.
"Delicious..."
It was, perhaps, the tastiest food he'd ever eaten. The flavors hit him all at once, his eyes almost tearing up.
'Haha... and here I always used to complain to Mom for making something so simple...'
Azriel thought bitterly, memories of his old fights with his mother resurfacing.
"Personally, I prefer the juicy meat of void creatures, especially grilled. Gods! Azriel, have you ever tasted a dark basilisk? You'd die eating it—figuratively and literally!" Solomon exclaimed, grinning as Ragnar shot him an annoyed glare.
"Haha, I haven't had the chance to encounter a dark basilisk yet, though I'm not sure I'm eager to either," Azriel replied nervously, chuckling.
'I swear, his brain needs to be studied.'
'Though I do have [Redo], so I could technically eat it even if I die...'
Shaking his head to clear Solomon's influence, he continued eating happily.
Before he knew it, his plate was clean. He felt a twinge of disappointment.
"You want more?" Ragnar asked, noticing.
Azriel shook his head.
"There's no need. This was plenty."
Ragnar leaned back in his chair. Solomon, eyes closed, sipped a glass of wine he'd seemingly produced from thin air, his usual serene smile on his lips.
'He acts so carefree, you'd forget he's an actual saint.'
Sighing, Azriel finally asked the question they all knew was coming.
"How are they... my family, I mean?"
The moment he spoke, Solomon's expression soured.
"Suffocating. What else?" Solomon muttered. Luckily, Ragnar clarified.
"They're all fine—physically. But ever since you... died, the Crimson Estate's become suffocating."
"Your sister barely leaves the academy. She trains until she collapses. Your father drowns himself in work, blaming himself for what happened."
"Your mother... rarely leaves her room unless it's to eat with Joaquin."
Azriel's heart ached. The pain he had caused them by vanishing...
'And I can't even contact them yet...'
"Well, it shows how much they loved you," Solomon offered, trying to lift his spirits.
Azriel just shook his head. His voice was bitter.
"...I am unworthy of their love."
Not just theirs—but his past family's, too. What had he ever done to deserve their pride?
Nothing.
"That doesn't matter," Ragnar said suddenly, his voice sharp.
"Whether or not you think you're worthy of their love doesn't change the fact that they love you. Trust me—parents always love their children. I would know. I'm a parent too."
"I mean, look at Celestina, my little princess—"
"Alright, alright! Please stop. I don't want to sit here for five hours listening to you ramble about your daughter again!" Solomon interrupted, glaring.
Ragnar coughed and looked away awkwardly.
"Right, sidetracked. My apologies."
'They're certainly close.'
'Celestina Frost, huh...'
Of course, he knew who she was. Celestina Frost was one of the main heroines from the book—part of the protagonist's harem, just like his sister.
He hadn't interacted much with her—just formal greetings at banquets. But...
'Honestly, out of all the heroines, I liked her the most...'
Apart from Jasmine, she was the strongest. Smart, capable, and...
'Extremely beautiful.'
"Oh right! I totally forgot—since you decided to be the gift itself," Solomon suddenly said, drawing confused looks from Ragnar and Azriel.
'Gift itself?'
"It's already 00:48, too. Damn," he added.
"What are you talking about?" Ragnar asked.
Solomon chuckled.
"Ha! Glad to see I'm not the only one who forgot. Don't tell me you've both forgotten what day just passed?"
Ragnar's eyes widened, rare shock cracking through his stoic expression before he sighed.
"Of course I'd forget as well..."
Turning toward Azriel, Solomon met his gaze.
"Happy late birthday, Azriel," he said, smiling.
"Mm. Happy birthday. Sorry we forgot," Ragnar added.
Azriel blinked at them, stunned.
Then finally spoke.
"My what now?"