The words hit harder than I expected.
Behind her, a figure moved — Celyne. She was quiet too, but her eyes locked onto me, sharp and unreadable.
I swallowed. This wasn't normal.
Mina stood at the side, waiting without a word, like she was holding back whatever she wanted to say.
The carriage sat nearby, ready.
Lana stepped forward and climbed in first, settling silently. Celyne followed without hesitation, her armor barely making a sound.
I hesitated a moment before climbing in. The door shut behind me, the world outside muffled.
Celyne broke the silence.
"Listen," she said, voice low and serious. "If any nobles try to give you trouble, ignore it. Don't react."
I nodded, eyes on Lana.
She stayed quiet, but I caught the way her shoulders tensed. Celyne noticed too. The cold warrior's eyes flicked toward Lana, then back to me.
The carriage rolled forward.
No one spoke.
Whatever was coming, it wasn't good.
---
The carriage slowed to a stop.
We'd arrived.
I looked out the window.
Tall spires. White stone. Polished statues. Everything here screamed money and power. Like the kind of place where a wrong look could get you jailed.
The door opened, and Celyne stepped out first.
She turned back slightly, her eyes on Lana.
"It'll be fine," she said.
Lana didn't answer, just nodded once.
We stepped out one by one. Guards stood like statues on both sides of the path, barely blinking. It felt like even the wind bowed around here.
Then we entered.
Red carpet floors. Gold-trimmed walls. A corridor wide enough to land a dragon in. Nobles lined the sides like ornaments—draped in silk, jewels glittering under the high arched windows.
I blinked.
…They were all kind of… round.
Soft-looking. Puffy collars. Chubby cheeks. Chins with backup chins.
I leaned a little toward Lana, barely whispering under my breath.
"Why is everyone so chubby?"
Both Celyne and Lana stopped walking for a split second.
Celyne turned and gave me a glare that could've frozen time.
The kind of look that said you had one job.
Don't. Do. Anything.
But then…
Lana let out a small laugh. Just a quiet little breath, but it carried more weight than a full sentence. The tension in her shoulders eased just a little.
Celyne saw it too.
She sighed, looked forward, and said nothing.
Lana glanced at me sideways. "In the capital, being a little round is considered… attractive."
"Really?" I said.
She smiled faintly. "Probably because all the nobles are too rich to stop eating."
Fair enough.
We kept walking.
And I kept my mouth shut this time. Probably.
---
We walked deeper into the estate.
Marble turned to velvet. The air thinned, like it had passed through a hundred layers of formality.
At the end of the corridor stood a door.
No—not a door.
A gate. Twice my height, thick enough to stop a war, carved with golden lines and swirling symbols I couldn't begin to understand. Two guards flanked it, broad as wardrobes, wearing matching expressions like they hadn't blinked in years.
Lana stepped ahead.
They moved the instant she did.
No words. Just a nod—and the gate groaned open, spilling light across polished floors and into a world I definitely didn't belong in.
The throne hall stretched wider than a sports stadium back home. Pillars lined the walls like ancient gods. Velvet banners hung from above, dyed in deep royal blue. A faint scent of perfume and old parchment hung in the air.
People stood inside. Dozens.
Advisors in layered robes. Nobles in shining outfits too tight for breathing. Knights in ceremonial armor.
And near the front—four figures stood apart.
Two princes.
Two other princesses.
And seated on a dais, beneath a canopy of gold and glass… the king.
I'd seen old portraits and fantasy films. None of them prepared me for this.
He wasn't loud. Wasn't glowing. Wasn't even smiling.
Just sat there. Eyes sharp as blades, fingers steepled in front of him, like he already knew who I was and didn't like what he saw.
My foot hesitated a second.
Celyne noticed. She gave me a subtle nod—no smile, no words. Just a motion that said: Walk.
So I did.
Step by step, into the jaws of the kingdom.
Then I heard them.
Whispers.
Quiet. Slippery. Just barely out of reach.
Dozens of voices murmuring from all corners of the grand hall—behind jeweled fans, under polite masks, behind overly powdered faces.
I couldn't make out the words.
But I didn't need to.
Every sideways glance, every raised brow, every smirk that didn't reach the eyes—they all said the same thing.
That's him?
The outsider?
He doesn't even look noble.
He's dangerous.
My steps faltered just a little.
Celyne's presence beside me was like cold steel. Lana's, a walking pillar of calm.
The whispers grew louder, bolder.
Then—
"Silence!"
The voice cracked through the hall like a whip.
A man stepped forward in full military uniform, rows of medals gleaming like a wall of eyes. His voice was sharp, no-nonsense—the kind that expected instant obedience.
The murmurs died.
Just like that, the hall fell into sharp, cutting quiet.
I kept walking.
The king hadn't said a word. But I could feel his gaze.
Not like heat. Not like pressure.
More like... weight. Ancient and unmoved.
And we hadn't even spoken yet.
The silence stretched.
Then Lana bowed.
A smooth, practiced motion, head lowered, one hand over her chest.
Celyne followed, crisp and exact like a blade sheathed in discipline.
I hesitated for half a second, then mimicked them.
It felt strange—kneeling in front of someone I'd never met, someone whose name I hadn't even heard until today.
But I didn't question it.
Not here.
Not now.
A beat passed.
"You may rise," came the voice from the throne.
Deep. Controlled. Unemotional, but not cold.
We stood.
The king sat atop a wide, elevated seat that wasn't just a throne—it was a statement. Gold traced the edges. The fabric shimmered like it had been woven from dawn itself. His robes were simpler than I expected, but his presence made up for it. The kind of man who didn't need volume to command a room.
He studied me like I was a puzzle piece that didn't fit.
"You are the one Lana brought," he said.
It wasn't a question. More like an accusation wrapped in curiosity.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Lana replied calmly. "He is Ark."
A hum from the throne.
His eyes shifted to me.
"You do not kneel like a knight. You do not dress like a noble. And yet… you carry yourself like someone who has seen blood."
I didn't respond. Not out of defiance. I just didn't know if I was supposed to.
"Where are you from, boy?"
The room was quiet enough to hear the flutter of the palace banners.
I opened my mouth—then paused.
I couldn't say "another world." Not here. Not now.
"Myanmar"
A few chuckles scattered through the nobles. The king did not laugh.
"And what are you?" he asked.
That one caught me.
"I'm… just a person."
More laughter. Celyne tensed beside me.
But the king only tilted his head slightly.
"Lana," he said. "You said he passed several of your tests?"
"Yes, Father."
That made my eyes flick.
"Magic?" the king asked.
"No affinity," she answered honestly.
A ripple of murmurs surged through the crowd again.
The king raised a hand. It stopped instantly.
He looked at me one more time.
"…Yet he stands."
And somehow, that seemed to say more than anything else.
---
A shuffle.
Then the scrape of a chair.
One of the older men stepped forward, his robes dragging slightly behind him like they were trying to escape. A thick beard, heavily oiled, and a nose so sharp it could've written letters on stone.
"If I may speak, Your Majesty," he said, bowing with one hand on his chest. "This boy—this Ark—he stands here without origin, without magic, without title. And yet he wields something…"
His eyes flicked to the stick on my back.
"…unfitting."
He looked straight at me now.
"According to reports, he used that"—he nearly sneered—"to cleave through whispering demons. Creatures that would trouble even an elite mage. We are expected to believe it's just a wooden stick?"
I didn't say anything.
He turned to the king.
"There is the possibility, Your Majesty… that it is a concealed weapon. An object of black magic. Artificial. Illegal."
A murmur spread again. Nobles shifting. Whispers threading through the air.
And then—
"I agree."
The voice came from one of the thrones beside the king.
A young man. Broad-shouldered, too many rings on his fingers, and a smile that was the exact opposite of friendly.
One of the princes.
He leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp.
"If this Ark truly bears no magic, then the weapon is suspect. Perhaps enchanted by an outsider. Or worse…"
He let the word hang, then shrugged lazily.
"…perhaps he is the weapon."
Now everyone was looking at me again. Fantastic.
Celyne didn't move, but I could feel the air around her shift slightly. Lana's posture was still composed, but I noticed her hand twitch.
I wanted to say something.
Maybe: "I'm not cursed."
Or: "It's just a stick."
Or even: "I didn't ask to be here, by the way."
But I didn't.
Because right now, I wasn't sure any of those things would help.
And… to be honest?
That last theory didn't sound completely wrong.
Another voice cut through the chamber.
This one didn't boom like the last. It slithered.
"Your Majesty… if I may."
A man stepped forward. Thin. Pale. His robes too dark for daylight, his eyes too wide to be normal. He looked like the type to whisper conspiracy theories to his soup.
"I have no interest in political flattery," he said, eyes locked on me like I owed him something. "But what I see before me is not a boy."
Okay, weird start.
"This creature—this Ark—he bears no aura, no trace of elemental affinity. No history. And yet he walks beside your daughter, your sword, and your guard?"
He took a few slow steps closer, voice rising just enough to stir the room.
"No records. No past. No house. No mannners."
He turned to the others now, voice louder, more unhinged.
"We've seen this before. Stories buried in restricted libraries—about monsters that wear the face of men. Hidden weapons from other worlds. Beasts bound in flesh."
I blinked. Did he just call me a beast?
He raised a long finger, pointing at me like I was some cursed relic.
"You've all heard the rumors—he tore through whispering demons without a scratch. Fought a Royal Guard. Broke her sword. With a stick."
He spun, cloak flaring behind him.
"And yet… no mana. No training. No allegiance. Tell me, how does a boy do that?"
Someone in the back muttered something. Another nodded.
Then the advisor dropped his voice low, almost gleeful.
"He's not a guest. He's a planted pawn. A monster hidden in plain sight. Sent to get close to the princess. Corrupt her. Use her to open something—"
"That's enough."
Lana's voice. Not loud. But everyone stopped breathing anyway.
She stood straight, face unreadable.
"I brought him here under my name," she said. "If you're accusing him of something, say it plainly. If not—leave."
The advisor's mouth opened—then closed again. His eyes still didn't leave mine.
I didn't flinch. Just blinked slowly.
Monster?
They sure have cooked up a lot of theories about me.
---
The silence that followed Lana's defense felt longer than it really was.
Then finally—finally—the king spoke.
His voice was deep and smooth, like stone pulled across wet marble.
"Hm… I see."
He leaned forward slightly on his throne. No emotion. No anger. Just… calculation.
"Let us put it to a vote," he said, eyes sweeping across the court. "On how we shall proceed with this… Ark."
I blinked.
Wait, what?
"Raise your hand," the king said, "if you believe this boy poses a risk to the kingdom."
Hands went up.
One. Two. Five. Ten.
I watched them rise like blades from the ground—sharp and absolute.
I glanced to the side.
Celyne, arms folded. No hand raised. Her jaw was tight.
Lana… her hand stayed down too. But her eyes were hard.
Another hand stayed down. A young woman—ginger hair, in a sea of jeweled robes. Another princess?
Everyone else?
All against me.
The king gave a single nod.
"Majority rules."
He looked down at me.
"Ark of no origin… for the safety of Elaria, you are hereby sentenced—"
Wait....
"—to execution."
Huh?