Rulthan stepped into the captain's quarters with a stiff bow.
The room reeked of spiced wine. A half-drained goblet rested on the table, dark drops staining the wood. Vaskel sat slouched in his chair, pale skin catching the candlelight, his breathing heavy. Beneath his bed, a black-eyed slave knelt naked, trembling with every shift of Vaskel's foot.
Vaskel's voice cut the silence like a blade. "In the Battle Royale, I tolerated your decision to save that filth — because you wanted to destroy him in the arena yourself. For daring to crawl out of the sewers. But now… he defeated that Kaya girl. She was utterly useless — a disgrace to the title she carried."
He slammed the glass against the table, wine splattering across the wood. The black-eyed slave beneath the bed flinched at the sound, curling tighter, but Vaskel didn't spare him a glance. His glare fixed solely on Rulthan.
"He only came this far because of you. Do you understand? His survival is your burden now."
Vaskel leaned back, fingers tightening around the stem of his glass. "I was even considering having this filth assassinated… but he's under Setsuna's watchful eyes. Tch."
Rulthan bristled, heat rising in his voice. "Wait. Do you not believe I can defeat this gutter rat?"
"All I am saying," Vaskel replied coldly, "is that if you don't kill him in the arena, then I'll have no choice but to expel you from my squad. I have no use for someone who can't defeat filth."
His eyes burned with a vicious fury, the kind that left no room for doubt. "Did I make myself clear?"
Rulthan gave a stiff nod.
"Good. Now get out of my sight." Vaskel flicked his hand toward the slave. "You — clean that up."
Rulthan turned on his heel and left without another word, the echo of his steps swallowed by the corridors. For a heartbeat, an old memory flickered — sneers, mud, and the sting of stones hurled by boys from the Lower Crescent.
I'm going to flush that gutter rat back to the sewers… right where he belongs.
That same night, in another wing of the palace—
The chamber was darker this time. Only the hearth burned, its flames throwing restless shadows across the stone walls. The air smelled faintly of ash and parchment, the crackle of fire the only sound.
Cedric paced slowly before the hearth, a heavy volume open in his hand — birth records, their brittle pages marked with notes and scribbles. His wings shifted faintly with each turn, catching the firelight in brief, sharp glimmers as though echoing the tension in his voice.
"A black eye and a green one…Not from illness or spellwork. Two distinct, dominant traits. In one body."
The door creaked softly.
Elyria stepped inside, a pale dress falling to her ankles, a crown of flowers resting lightly against her silver hair. In her arms she carried an old tome, its cracked spine and worn cover catching the firelight.
She paused at the threshold, watching him in the glow of the flames.
"Did you find anything new?" she asked quietly.
Cedric shook his head once, his eyes never lifting from the page as he turned it with deliberate care.
She stepped closer, her gaze catching the spidery notes in the margins, the tangled lines of names and unions. Slowly, the words he had spoken sank in. A crease formed at her brow.
"What if his parents were from two different classes?" she said. "One noble, one enslaved. It's forbidden… but not impossible."
Cedric's eyes flicked down the page as though the answer might appear between the brittle lines. "I considered that as well," he said at last. His tone was calm, precise. "But even in forbidden unions, one trait always asserts itself. The child takes after one or the other. There is no precedent for… this. No record. No explanation."
He closed the volume with a muted thud and set it aside on the table, where more tomes already lay open. His hand lingered on the cover for a moment before he continued.
"I even sent Setsuna to investigate the old man who claims to have raised him. He reported nothing suspicious. Just a retired noble scholar, living quietly."
Elyria's brow tightened. "Are you certain?"
Cedric finally turned toward her, firelight catching the sharp line of his features."Setsuna wouldn't lie," he said evenly. "If it concerns the future of Yurelda, he knows better."
The silence pressed close, broken only by the hiss of the firewood. Then Cedric's gaze cut toward Elyria, sharp and direct.
"Did you find anything out?"
Elyria hesitated, her fingers brushing the hem of her dress before she steadied her voice."…I did. When I spoke with him. Before his first match."
Cedric's expression hardened. "Don't get to close to him."
She ignored the warning and stepped closer, holding the old tome out in both hands."I wanted to tell you then, but I needed to confirm first. I found this in the Royal Library."
He took the book from her, turning it in the firelight. He flipped through the worn pages, his jaw tight."…It's a book of water magic," he said flatly. "It's filled with spells and theories around water magic," Cedric said, turning a few brittle pages before stopping. He closed the book halfway, his thumb still holding the place.
"I thought you knew that I don't care about his magic the way the others do. It has nothing to do with his eyes."
Elyria blinked. "Then maybe you should care."
She stepped forward, her voice sharpening. "Near the end… there is an illustration."
Cedric flipped to the final pages as she guided his hand. The brittle parchment cracked faintly under his fingers.
A serpent sprawled across the faded ink — colossal, white as snow, coiled before the ruins of a shattered temple. And its eyes… one black, one gold.
Cedric's gaze fixed on it. For a long moment he said nothing, the firelight flickering across his face. His eyes narrowed — not in anger, but something rarer.
Disbelief.
"Who else knows of this?" His voice cut like steel.
"I don't know. Kazuo and his teammate for sure. But maybe Setsuna too."
She pressed, her words cutting through the fire's crackle. "What is it, Father? Do you know what this means?"
"No. It is nothing," Cedric lied.
In an instand he tore the page from the tome in one smooth motion. Elyria flinched at the sharp rip. Then, before she could move, he cast it into the hearth. Flames seized it greedily, curling the ink, blackening the serpent's coils until the image shriveled into ash.
"Why?" Elyria's composure cracked. "Why burn it? This could mean something—"
"Because it has nothing to do with Kazuo's eyes," Cedric snapped, his voice heavy. He laid the torn tome flat on the table with deliberate finality and stepped toward her, firelight carving the edge of his jaw. "And if people find out, it would destabilize the kingdom. Divide them further. Order is fragile enough without feeding it ghosts and riddles."
The silence thickened.
Cedric's tone dropped lower, deliberate. "I agreed to your help because you had a point. Because you said you wanted to help, since this concerned the future of our kingdom. Since we were in the same boat."
His eyes locked on hers, unflinching. "But this — this lust for knowledge, this hunger… it is more dangerous than my own obsession with him. Either you agree to my terms and focus only on his eyes… or you will never see him again. Get your hunger for this mystery under control. Do you understand?"
Elyria's jaw tightened. Then she snapped back, her voice sharper than she intended. "The more you push me away, the more I want to know. You're right, Father. I do want to know who he is — not just for the kingdom. For myself. And after what you did tonight, I believe even more that there's something deeper… something you don't want me to see."
A faint tremor passed through Cedric's wings, firelight catching the edges.
Elyria steadied herself. "I know about that image now, and if you want me to keep silent, then let me search in my own way. You can cage your curiosity behind law and order if you wish… but I won't."
Cedric's voice was ice. "Are you threatening your own father?"
The fire popped, throwing sparks. For a fleeting instant, both realized what neither would admit aloud: the boy they investigated was already dividing them.
Elyria lowered her gaze, voice soft but edged. "…I'm sorry, Father. I do love you. But you taught me that without knowledge we are blind — and that's why I can't understand your behavior at all."
She turned, her words quieter but cutting deeper. "And Mother… she would have agreed with me."
The door closed softly behind her.
Cedric stood alone. For a long moment he didn't move. Then he let a heavy breath escape, shoulders tightening as though bearing a weight too great.
"…Fiora."
His eyes stayed on the fire. "What would you have done in my place? Perhaps you'd let her go her own way…"
The flames hissed as another log split. His voice hardened. "But I cannot allow her to get hurt under my watch."
A forest flickered in memory. Fiora's laughter between the trees as Elyria, still a child, ran ahead with a crown of wildflowers. Fiora's voice, certain as sunlight:
"You have to let her explore, Cedric. She'll only grow if she finds her own way."
The vision faded.
"Perhaps," he murmured. "But the world is not as gentle as you were."
The fire roared, devouring what remained of the serpent's ash.