(Grandpa POV)
When Erza and I glimpsed Yuuta's memories, something unsettled me right away. It wasn't a single image or word—it was the way every Elf we encountered within those memories reacted to him. An unspoken pull, almost instinctive, compelling them to shield him.
It didn't add up.
Not at first.
Perhaps we hadn't been shown the full truth. The spell's starting point had been when Yuuta was five years old, but what if the Elves had been seeing more than we had? What if their connection to the magic stretched further—reaching back to the very beginning of his existence?
If that was the case… then the Elf girl in the laboratory had been no bystander. She had been part of it—part of him.
The possibility gnawed at me.
Now, in the dimly lit room, I regarded that same kind elf girl. She knelt before me, her head bowed so low the edge of her hood shadowed her face. The faint flicker of a candle threw sharp lines across her trembling hands, folded neatly but tightly in front of her. The tension in her body was so strong it seemed to hum in the air.
I kept my voice deliberate, each syllable carrying the weight of my years.
"Just answer me—does Yuuta have Royal Elf blood?"
The question struck her like a blade. She froze. Her lips pressed together, quivering slightly as she searched for a path that wouldn't end with her head on the floor.
"I… I can't answer that," she finally whispered.
A slow heat rose in my chest. Few things angered me, but evading a direct question from a Dragon—especially one concerning family—was dangerously close to disrespect.
She must have felt my irritation. Her fingers clenched in the folds of her skirt. "Please… O great divine being…" Her voice wavered, an oath tumbling from her lips. "I swear to the Queen I will not tell anyone…"
I narrowed my gaze, watching for even the faintest flicker of deceit. None came. Only fear and desperate sincerity.
"Fine," I said at last, my tone sharpening. "Then simply shake your head if he is human."
She shook her head.
"Next," I continued, slower this time, "does he have pure Royal Elf blood in him?"
This time her answer was strange. Her head moved in both directions—first a shake, then a nod, her confusion twisting her features.
My eyes narrowed further. "Explain. What does that mean?"
She hesitated, as if the truth itself might wound her. "He does have it… but not fully," she admitted at last, her voice almost lost to the quiet between us.
A thread of understanding began to weave itself in my mind. Mixed blood. That explained much—yet it left an even sharper question behind: what else runs through his veins?
Then, the final piece fell into place. I remember ,The Elf Queen calling him "her child" hadn't been a metaphor or empty courtesy. Sophia's blood had been used in his creation. (Ref. 66-67).
By that fact alone, Yuuta was a prince of the Elven Kingdom. And yet… there was no trace of the distinct aura that marked an Elf. The Eden scientists must have taken only a fragment of that blood, crafting something that was not wholly of one race, nor entirely of another.
Elves, I knew, were creatures of obsession when it came to their lineage. They would tolerate dilution with human or other blood, but their own essence—the spark of their kind—was sacred, fiercely guarded. Their protectiveness over Yuuta now made perfect, if troubling, sense.
I looked again at the elf girl. Still kneeling, still trembling, still dressed in her immaculate Church nun's uniform, her head bowed so deeply she could have been praying.
When she finally lifted her face just enough for her words to reach me, her voice was no more than a thread.
"Please… let me save Lord."
That explained much—why Yuuta had endured torments that would have broken lesser beings, why his body clung so stubbornly to life. But still… one question gnawed at me, sharp and relentless.
What is he, truly?
If he carried mixed Elf blood and was born of artificial creation, why did he remain—at least in form—human? Was he truly a man blessed, or cursed, with the ability to accept any bloodline? Or was he something else entirely—some unknown kind the world had yet to name?
For now, such questions would have to remain locked away. My path was clear. Save him first. Only then could my granddaughter be freed from the chains of her unbearable grief.
I turned toward the bedroom door, each step slow, deliberate, the wood creaking beneath my weight. My gaze lingered on the kneeling Elf girl.
"Listen well, Elf," I said, my voice firm but measured. "I permit you to heal him."
Her head snapped up slightly, eyes brightening with sudden, almost reverent hope. The depth of her devotion to the bloodline was written plainly across her face.
But I could not leave her without a warning.
"Erza is in Dragon Grief," I said. "Tread carefully—it is up to you how you will reach him."
She didn't waste a heartbeat. Rising in a swift motion, she darted toward the bedroom, her every step pulsing with urgency. The preservation of the bloodline was more than a duty to her—it was an instinct that burned hotter than fear.
The moment she crossed the threshold, Erza's aura lashed out. The air thickened instantly, pressing down like the weight of the ocean. Her killing intent was so potent it could have crushed the will from any lesser being, leaving them senseless on the floor.
The Elf girl stopped dead in her tracks.
Then, with a grace born of both respect and survival, she sank to her knees before Erza. Her head lowered until her forehead nearly touched the floor, body poised in complete submission. No words, no protests—only the silent acknowledgment of the storm she had stepped into.
The air between them trembled—a collision of grief, raw power, and fragile hope.
(Mary POV)
The moment I stepped into the bedroom, the air pressed down on me like a living thing—thick, heavy, suffocating. My lungs tightened, and my legs nearly faltered. It felt like standing at the edge of a battlefield, with death itself watching from the shadows.
Erza was the source.
She sat motionless on the bed, Yuuta cradled in her lap as if he were something fragile that might vanish if she let go. Her aura was no mere presence—it was a storm. Power radiated from her in waves, pure and untamed, and it carried with it something even more dangerous than anger.
Grief.
Yuuta looked peaceful, as though asleep, but my healer's eyes saw what the surface could not hide—his body was wrecked. Bones shattered, joints twisted out of place, his energy nearly burned out to nothing. He should have been screaming in pain… yet he lay still, his head resting against her.
I knew I could heal him. Sophia's blood, woven into my magic, could mend him in moments. But Erza… in this state, even the slightest wrong move could turn her wrath on me.
I forced myself to kneel, lowering my head until my forehead touched the floor. My voice trembled.
"My Queen…"
Her Voilet eyes shifted to me. For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.
"Are you here… to hurt him?"
The words weren't a question. They were a blade pressed to my throat.
My heart pounded so loud I could hear it in my ears. "No, my Queen," I whispered.
Her head tilted slightly, her voice raw and uneven, like someone trying to speak through splintered glass. "Then… why are you here?"
I swallowed hard. "Because I want to heal him. Please… allow me."
Her gaze hardened. "No… no need… I…am..enough." Each word carried the weight of something unspoken—fear, frustration, and a love too deep to control.
And then I understood.
This was the Dragon Grief.
I had read about it in the ancient records—accounts from the aftermath of the Zareth War, when mighty dragons, robbed of what they cherished most, fell into a cold, unyielding state. Some had even chosen to die alongside their mates. After that tragedy, many dragons became selfish, guarding their hearts fiercely to avoid ever facing such grief again.
And yet… Erza.
Erza, the dragon the world called the coldest and ruthless alive—an unfeeling queen of ice and iron—had fallen victim to it.
Why? How?
Was it possible that she had loved Yuuta—wholly, fiercely, with a depth that even she hadn't dared admit? That her love had been so consuming, so absolute, that when it was torn from her, the grief didn't just wound her… it devoured her from the inside out?
I could hardly believe it. Dragons like her weren't supposed to break. And yet here she was, not roaring in fury, not standing tall in defiance, but slowly drowning in a grief that no fire or frost could melt away.
But For now, I have to save Yuuta.
"My Queen," I said again, my voice shaking but firm, "if I fail, you may punish me however you wish. But for his sake… please allow me."
Her aura flickered. Not gone, not even truly dimmed—but its edge softened, the raw killing intent loosening its grip on the room. She looked down at Yuuta, her lips parting in something fragile, almost broken.
I dared to raise my head. "I can heal him. Trust me."
For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, finally, a faint nod. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Okay… heal him."
I moved forward slowly, every step measured, until I was beside Yuuta. My hands hovered above his head for a moment before gently resting there. His body told me everything—where it hurt, where it broke, where it clung desperately to life.
Drawing in a deep breath, I began the incantation. Warmth gathered beneath my palms, light blooming between my fingers. The essence of Sophia's blood flowed through him, weaving into his body like golden threads, knitting bone to bone, muscle to muscle, soul to flesh.
My magic start working.
Yuuta lay still, breathing softly, his skin smooth and unbroken where there had once been deep wounds. The Princess's blood had done its work flawlessly. Injuries that should have left him bedridden for weeks were gone, leaving no trace they had ever been there.
I had to blink a few times, almost expecting the damage to return if I looked away. "My Queen…" I whispered, glancing toward Erza. "As I said… he's healed."
She didn't react the way I expected. No questions. No sudden relief. Just… silence. Her shoulders eased, her voliet eyes grew heavy, she simply closed her eyes and drifted into sleep, as though the tension that had gripped her heart for days had finally eased.
The door opened quietly.
Lord Sage stepped inside, and the atmosphere shifted at once. His presence wasn't loud or overbearing—it was worse. It was calm, heavy, and unshakable, the kind of weight that made you stand straighter without realizing it.
He crossed the room and placed a hand on my shoulder. The touch was light, but I felt every ounce of the power behind it.
"Thank you," he said, his voice deep and even. "For saving my granddaughter… and Yuuta."
I lowered my gaze. "It's my honor to be of use to a great one."
He gave the faintest of nods, then bent to lift Elena into his arms. His grip on her was careful, almost protective. "Come," he said, already heading toward the door. "Join me. I have many questions to ask."
I didn't need to be told twice. This was Isvaran Veyla Dragomir—the Sage of Seven, Grand Advisor of the Atlantis Kingdom. A name spoken in reverence across continents. Refusing him would be unthinkable.
Still, before I left, I leaned down and pressed a kiss to Yuuta's forehead. His warmth reassured me, even if only for a moment.
By the time I entered the living room, Lord. was already seated on the sofa. A thin curl of steam rose from the coffee cup in his hand, the rich, bitter scent filling the space. The fireplace crackled faintly behind him.
"Please, sit," he said, gesturing to the seat across from him.
I hesitated. Not out of fear of the man himself—though there was plenty of that—but because of his tone. The Sage of Seven didn't need to invite anyone to sit. Yet here he was, offering me the courtesy of choice.
"Don't be afraid," he added, his sharp eyes catching my hesitation. "I only wish to ask you something about Yuuta."
I crossed the room and sat carefully, keeping my hands folded in my lap.
"Tell me," he began, voice calm but deliberate, "is he human… or something else?"
"My Lord, I don't know," I answered honestly. "The Great Spirit told us Yuuta was a human child. I believe that to be true."
His gaze narrowed slightly, as though weighing my words against something he already suspected. "Do you think he will grow old?"
I swallowed. "I… don't know, my Lord."
He took a slow sip from his cup, the faint clink of porcelain against saucer the only sound in the room. Then he leaned forward slightly. "Last question. You've watched him grow. Have you noticed anything unusual? Anything… that would make him inhuman?"
His tone made it sound less like a question and more like a quiet hope—that Yuuta was more than human or he was hoping to be other being than human. I didn't understand why… but the truth was all I could give.
"My Lord, when I was given this task, I was a prisoner of the Elven Kingdom. They told me it was a high-risk mission from the Great Spirit, and I obeyed. As for your question—no. I saw nothing unusual. He grew like any other boy. No magic. No strange signs."
Something in him seemed to falter. His shoulders lowered, just slightly.
"I see…" His voice was quieter now. "Forgive me for bothering you. You may stay or go as you wish. I need some space."
"Yes, my Lord."
He stood and turned toward the balcony. His movements were slower this time, and his aura… dimmed. For a moment, he didn't look like the Sage of Seven, the man whose name carried weight in every court and council.
He looked like a man carrying an old grief he had never been able to put down.
To be continue....