The days in Balmount Kingdom passed under a thickening gray sky. A brooding stillness hung over the city. Knights stood like statues at every crossroads, their armor catching dull glints of light as the wind whispered past them. At intervals, pairs shifted — one group replacing another in a methodical exchange, the rhythm of duty unbroken.
Inside the royal chambers, warmth clung to the still air. The room was quiet, too quiet. King Thorn stood before an ornate mirror, adjusting the collar of his dark doublet. Gold-thread embroidery. The hilt of his blade rested against his back, and his ring glinted faintly on his finger. Behind him, the shape on the bed was partially visible.
Queen Morganna, reclining in silence, watched him.
He met her gaze in the glass and offered a soft, wry smile. "Oh, my love. Admiring me again?"
Her face turned away too quickly. "No. I… I was only thinking when you'll finally bring our daughter home."
He didn't sigh aloud. I curse you, Countess, he thought instead, as he turned to face her fully, the smile still in place — now a polished mask. "Didn't I promise? When I return, Sylphira will be with us."
"But I can't wait," Morganna said, her voice tight with strain she tried to hide. "You've put me through too much just to find her."
Thorn walked slowly to the edge of the bed and sat beside her. The mattress dipped beneath his weight. "Morganna," he said gently, taking her hand. "None of this was meant to trouble you."
"Then why does it?" she asked softly, not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the stitching of the quilt.
"She's learning to protect herself," he said, brushing his thumb along the back of her fingers. "And from what I've heard… you'll be proud of her."
She pulled her hand away. "I am proud, Thorn. Always. But that's not the point. She shouldn't be training like some common soldier. She's to be Queen one day…she should be learning her political duties."
A flicker of irritation crossed Thorn's face before he buried it. "Not this again, Morganna. Yes, I know the crown requires diplomacy. But strength matters too. Strength that isn't just spoken."
"Then why did you hide her from me?" she said, her voice rising slightly. "Why not simply tell me where she was?"
"Because if I told you," Thorn his tone low, "you would have rushed to fetch her yourself."
Her lips parted as if to deny it, but she said nothing.
"She has potential, Morganna. Raw potential. I'm not throwing that away." His eyes softened. "And who knows? She might not even become Queen."
Morganna's gaze sharpened instantly. "And why wouldn't she?"
He hesitated, then looked away. "Things change."
"She will be Queen," Morganna said, her voice a whisper that cut deeper than a scream. "That's final."
Thorn's shoulders sagged just slightly. "My love… you know about—"
"I don't want to hear it." Her hand moved to rest gently on her abdomen, as if to shield something only she could feel.
There was a long silence. Then Thorn nodded, quietly. "Fine. Sooner or later."
Morganna's voice broke through after a pause, quieter now. "I understand what you're trying to say, Thorn… but Sylphira is the rightful heir. Not that unwanted child."
A flicker of something dangerous passed through Thorn's eyes. "He is my child," he said, his voice like stone. "And I will not abandon him."
He stood abruptly, brushing invisible dust from his coat. "I have to go."
Morganna's voice softened again, desperate now. "Thorn…"
He turned, eyes lingering on her.
"My love?" he asked, the words calm, but the weight between them building — unsaid, unresolved.
She stood in silence for a moment, then moved to a side cupboard, her hands brushing past layers of velvet and cotton until she found what she was looking for — a dark, weathered cloak, plain in appearance but finely made. With slow steps, she approached him and draped it over his shoulders. Her fingers lingered on the fabric, pressing gently.
"You tend to forget," Morganna said softly.
Thorn gave a low chuckle, the sound genuine, warm. "I really do." He met her gaze, his expression steadying. "Morganna… you know what to do, don't you?"
She didn't answer right away. Her fingers fidgeted, turning the silver ring on her ring finger — slow, steady circles. "Of course I do," she finally said, her voice quiet. "Thorn… will our daughter be safe?"
"She will," he replied without hesitation. "That, I assure you."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes.
Thorn's tone shifted, firm and clear. "Don't forget to bring the Countess to the castle. It's not a matter of if they attack…it's when. And from what I've been told... they have someone dangerous. Something unnatural."
Morganna's chin lifted slightly. "I can protect myself," she said, her voice tinged with pride.
"I know," he said, quieter now, "but if something happens to you..." His voice nearly broke. "It would destroy me."
She turned away from him slightly, but not before he saw the flicker in her eyes.
"The Countess must be here. I trust she'll obey my orders."
Morganna gave a short laugh, low and sharp. "You don't have to keep warning her. She's doing everything she can."
"I know she is," he murmured, "but she still thinks... selfishly."
He snapped his finger. A faint crackle stirred the air beside him, a shimmer like light bent through water. The air fractured, and blue light spilled from a widening tear, thin veins of energy crawling along the edges like living lightning. A portal, pulsing faintly, waited before him.
"Are you sure you don't want to take Eryndor?" Morganna asked, eyeing the glowing magic.
"No. He's needed here. He'll be preparing the next move... and guarding the children. That comes first."
"Who then…has Subaru thought of as your aide?"
Thorn exhaled softly. "Subaru said not to worry. He has someone….I believe"
She arched a brow. "You're trusting Subaru now?"
"I didn't say trust," Thorn muttered. "I said he has someone. I'll find out when I get there….besides Subaru is my very good friend"
Morganna crossed her arms. "Fine. But no sparring with him. Promise me that."
Thorn's face twisted with reluctant amusement. "Do I really have to listen to you?"
"Yes," she said plainly. "I know how you get when you see him."
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Understood."
Just as he took a step toward the portal, her voice caught him again.
"My love?"
He paused, turning back. "Yes?"
Her eyes didn't waver this time. "I love you."
A stillness settled between them.
His smile was different now — no charm, no mask. Just truth. "I do too, my love. Don't forget."
He stepped into the light, and the portal sealed behind him with a sharp, quiet hiss. The room returned to stillness, only the faint scent of ozone lingering in the air.
Morganna remained where she was, her hand resting against her abdomen once more. A small, tired smile rose on her lips.
"Oh, Thorn."
Outside the Dreadholm Dominion, deep within the heart of the woods, the air shimmered, then tore apart with a sound like glass cracking beneath frost. From the rift stepped Thorn, his cloak trailing behind him as the portal hissed shut, leaving only a faint scent of ozone and disturbed pine.
His boots pressed into the soft earth, damp with last night's rain, as a breeze swept through the trees, stirring the heavy scent of moss and bark. Thorn took in the surroundings with narrowed eyes, his senses keen, his expression unreadable. The steel hilt of his greatsword caught a shaft of light, glinting briefly beneath his cloak.
"Strange..". His gaze lingered on the undergrowth. "Maybe Subaru's dominion security system has been upgraded."
He raised his hood, letting its shadow conceal the sharp angles of his face. With a sigh that barely moved the air, he stepped deeper into the woods.
"Please… Morganna. Stay safe until I return."
Minutes passed in quiet tension before he reached the edge of the tree line. The forest gave way to a paved road stretching into the low hills that ringed the Dominion. Just as he emerged, a modest wooden carriage appeared in the distance — its wheels creaking softly, pulled by a single, weather-worn horse.
A woman sat on the bench. Elderly, dignified despite her age, she held the reins with practiced ease. Baskets of ripe fruit were stacked behind her — oranges, apples, and a few wrapped bundles of herbs.
Thorn lifted a hand, signaling for her to stop. The carriage came to a halt with a soft tug of the reins.
The woman peered at him, not suspicious, but not naïve either. Her voice was calm and clear. "What seems to be the trouble, young man?"
He stepped closer, lowering his hand. "Forgive the interruption, ma'am. Would it trouble you if I rode with you a short way? I'm heading toward the dominion."
She studied him — not just his cloak, but his posture, the hidden tension in his shoulders, the way he avoided revealing his face. Her expression softened into a knowing smile.
"Hop on, then," she said, shifting her weight to one side of the bench. "It's a long road from here, and it's kinder to ride than to wear your legs out."
Thorn gave a small nod and climbed up beside her. The mare resumed her pace, hooves striking the stone with a steady rhythm.
For a while, neither spoke. The wind carried the scent of ripe apples and tilled soil.
"So," the woman finally asked, her tone curious but gentle, "what brings a traveler like you to Dreadholm?"
Thorn gave a small chuckle, the sound rough, as if laughter didn't come often. "I've come to see a very old friend."
Her eyes twinkled. "A good friend, then."
"One of the few."
She nodded slowly. "A good friend is rarer than gold these days." She tapped the side of one basket with a knotted hand. "Me, I'm off to see my boy. His wife's expecting. Thought I'd surprise them with some fruit from the garden."
"That's thoughtful," Thorn said, glancing at the fruit. "You must be proud."
"Oh, I am," she said, her chest lifting with quiet pride. "He's a good son. Grew up strong, but kept his kindness. Not many manage both."
He turned toward the trees for a moment, thinking. "Kindness and strength... That balance breaks kingdoms when it's lost."
Then, without quite knowing why, he asked, "Why don't you live with him?"
She laughed — a soft, amused sound that held no offense. "And let him treat me like some withered pot in the corner?" She smirked. "Besides, I still have a garden to tend and gossip to share. Living with your children is how you ruin the best part of being old."
Thorn blinked, caught off guard by the answer. He looked away, a flicker of awkwardness crossing his usually composed features.
She chuckled again, not unkindly. "You're not used to small talk, are you?"
"Nothing like that, ma'am," Thorn said, his voice low with amusement, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly.
"You really are a funny man," she said, shaking her head, the lines on her face deepening with a fond smile. "You remind me of my husband."
Thorn turned to glance at her. "Is he… gone?" His voice dipped, softened by something distant — a flicker of Morganna's hand pressed to her belly still lingering in his mind.
"What? Oh, no, dear," she laughed, a light, fluttering sound. "Why would you think that? My husband's alive and well. Just a busy man. Always working. Says he's putting food on the table for both of us."
Thorn looked down briefly, then nodded. "That's thoughtful of him."
She smiled again — but this time, it was smaller, quieter. The kind of smile that grows in a life built slowly, day by day. "It is. But I sometimes wish he'd rest. Men like to carry the world until it breaks their back."
Thorn didn't reply right away. He only looked forward, watching the treetops shift as they neared the gates of Dreadholm.
"Until it breaks their back... or their heart."
Soon, Dreadholm's main gates stood wide, guarded by a few elites in their uniforms.
The carriage slowed to a gradual halt as they approached the checkpoint. The horse gave a soft huff, hooves scuffing at the stone.
An elite stepped forward, tall and composed, her posture regal. Her hair, a dark brown pulled into a precise bun, framed her striking violet eyes. She wore no expression beyond polite professionalism.
"Welcome to Dreadholm," she said calmly. "Your permit, please."
The old woman rummaged through her dress, pulling a small parchment-folded card from her sleeve. She handed it over.
The elite scanned it quickly and gave a short nod. "Thank you." Her gaze turned to Thorn. "And yours, sir?"
The old woman blinked, turning to him. "Oh, do you have one, young man?"
"Don't worry, ma'am," Thorn said gently, patting his side. "I do."
He reached into a pocket and retrieved a small metallic card, its silver sheen dulled by age but not wear. He passed it silently to the elite.
As her eyes scanned the engraved sigil, her breath hitched almost imperceptibly. Her hand froze for a moment — just a flicker — before she looked up, gaze locking with his.
Thorn met her eyes and raised a single finger to his lips.
She paused... then gave the faintest nod. The kind you make when silence is more sacred than words.
She returned the card with both hands, her voice smooth but edged with something new. "Enjoy your stay in Dreadholm, traveler."
Thorn tucked the card away without a word.
"Thank you," the old woman added, smiling kindly.
The carriage rolled past the checkpoint.
As they passed beneath the high arches of the gate, the elite lowered her gaze and brought a finger to the small, glimmering crystal pin on her collar. Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible.
"King Thorn is here… guide him to our lord."