Chapter Fifteen: A Separation Beneath Watchful Eyes
Aiyant walked slowly, his steps more audible than visible, until he reached the attic. He did not open the door; he merely leaned his back against the wall near the entrance, as though his presence alone was enough to weave an unseen tension. The scene resembled a fleeting cinematic shot—short-lived, yet bound to something unspoken.
Inside, Iswar lay down with one hand under his head. His eyes had turned pale, and his hair was shifting toward black, as if his body were undergoing a strange transformation. Ayak, standing beside him, stared for a moment before whispering something. Iswar asked coldly, his words sounding as though they had come from far away:
"What happened to Aiyant?"
Ayak let out a long sigh before replying:
"Is that all you care about?"
But Iswar's gaze forced him to keep his complaint inside. Iswar wanted an answer, not a discussion.
"Yes… But you are mistaken if you think worry changes anything. He will understand—in his own way."
He cast an illusion over Iswar, hiding those strange features, and then fell silent. The statement was short, heavy, like an admission of the limits of his power.
Iswar wanted nothing more. He gestured with his hand—an order no one could refuse. Ayak had no choice but to leave.
He opened the door and stepped out slowly, only to find Aiyant standing there like a dark statue. Their eyes met. In that instant, Aiyant's gaze seemed to cleave him in two: cold eyes casting judgment, as though he saw before him nothing more than a frail being worthy of pity.
Ayak forced a light tone into his voice.
"Do you not feel jealous?"
Jealous—what kind of jealousy did he mean?
Aiyant laughed briefly, edged with mockery, then replied without shifting his gaze:
"If Iswar wanted me, he would call me. But… each time something like this happens, he chooses you. So I chose to do as he does."
Ayak stepped closer and placed a hand on Aiyant's head, trying to soothe him.
"Do not be sad."
But kindness means nothing to a corpse—
Aiyant suddenly flinched, brushing his hand away violently, and exclaimed in anger:
"Do not belittle me just because you are a pure white dragon… I know him better than you do."
He turned away, his footsteps fading down the corridor. Before vanishing completely, he cast his final words like a cryptic dagger:
"Puppets… remain puppets."
As though he was not speaking of himself—
Ayak was left alone, staring into emptiness, ruffling his hair with restless fingers, whispering barely audibly:
"Why is it so hard to deal with the two of them?"
But he should not have said that—
---
The three departed elsewhere.
From afar, shadows swayed.
At the great gate, Duke Raymond awaited them. Iswar remained in the hall for only a few minutes. He sat, raised his hand, and silence fell.
"What is the latest news?" he asked coolly.
Raymond replied cautiously:
"Suspicious movements… A princess has survived the occupation. We are attempting to resolve the matter without bloodshed."
Iswar leaned his head back, letting the void swallow the words. Then Aiyant spoke for the first time, his voice like a dark thread piercing the stillness:
"You are always late."
Raymond tilted his head.
"Since when?"
Aiyant slowly raised two fingers.
"Two years. You only had to listen to what was left unsaid."
The duke faltered. Aiyant continued in an enigmatic tone, as though declaring an unquestionable verdict:
"Puppets move only when their strings are pulled."
Iswar suddenly rose, cutting the weight of the moment short.
"Enough. We will leave."
Raymond bowed quickly, wishing them safety, but the answers lingered in the air—endless questions left unresolved.
It was not a long meeting—only an exchange of what mattered.
---
… And back to moments before the dreadful incident, along a new forest road—
The carriage rattled along a narrow path swallowed by night. Inside was stillness, outside drowned in blood. Aiyant stood at the door, his body drenched in the crimson of battle, his left hand gripping the sword that still dripped, drop by drop, like the slow beat of a clock of blood.
He knocked lightly, his voice low:
"Is everything well, Your Highness?"
From within came Iswar's calm reply:
"It is fine… Open the door."
But Aiyant bent slightly, a cold smile forming on his bloodstained face.
"His Highness should not see this."
Only the wind carried the heavy scent of blood, flooding the road like a silent proclamation that death had just passed here.
--- And there were those who felt it, who understood—
The carriage jolted over the muddy road, the sound of horses mingling with the whistling wind. The night grew heavier, conspiring against its passengers. Iswar sat silently, his head resting against the glass, watching shadows slide across the window. Beside him sat Ayak, wordless, though his uneven breaths betrayed the exhaustion of the magic he had cast hours earlier.
Finally, Ayak spoke in a faint voice, as though confiding in himself:
"Iswar… Aiyant's smile was not genuine. He seemed disheartened."
Iswar answered without lifting his head, as one who already knew the truth:
"You are wrong. He is at ease… but his smiles are always false."
He paused, then touched the glass with a cold finger.
"This is how he chooses to live… behind masks."
Outside the carriage, the heavy scent of blood lingered with the wind, as though still pursuing them down the road. The night itself seemed to whisper, keeping a secret it refused to reveal.
They arrived in that dreadful quiet.
From afar, the shadow of the Emperor appeared. His eyes trembled at the horrific sight—his son unharmed, while Aiyant stood covered in blood. After a brief watch, the Emperor left as suddenly as he had come.
At the palace entrance, Aiyant stood still after leaving Iswar to stride confidently toward his office. He turned to Ayak, his voice at first sounding ordinary, yet carrying a gravity unlike his usual playful tone:
"Are you truly capable of protecting him?"
Ayak narrowed his eyes in protest.
"What do you take me for?"
Aiyant smiled faintly, then averted his gaze as if the answer did not matter. Deep down, he knew this man was not merely a subordinate, nor just a friend to Iswar. He was something else—an identity Aiyant recognized, unseen by anyone else. And that knowledge made him look at Ayak as if at a strange being—half pity, half disdain.
Then Iswar's voice called out:
"Where are you going, Aiyant?"
He waved from afar, a half-smile drawn on his lips while his eyes remained cold.
"I don't feel right… I'll disappear for a while."
He did not wait for a response. He did not need to hear anything more. All he wanted was to retreat into solitude.
---
At headquarters, his skin still stained with blood, his laughter rang out as he opened the door to Rakael and Yardemil.
"Do I look now like the true Shira of Blood?"
He spread his arms wide, presenting himself as though upon a stage painted in crimson.
Later, after bathing, he returned to his room and found Skairl waiting for him. The latter smiled, tinged with reproach.
"Little Aiyant… you looked terrifying today. I heard the soldiers whisper that you relied on that half in order to win. Is it true?"
Aiyant sat on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his damp hair, then smiled broadly.
"And who says I cannot win without it?"
Skairl stepped closer, concern filling his eyes.
"I am not saying that. But you resort to it too often… as though you no longer trust your own strength."
Aiyant laughed loudly, a clear sound echoing off the chamber walls.
"Hah… Oh, are you jealous, Skairl?"
The latter shook his head quickly.
"Impossible for me to be jealous of such a fragile half… But I am worried for you."
A brief silence settled. Within, Aiyant felt a sharp contradiction: the comfort Skairl's presence gave him, countered by doubts he could never escape. It was as though he always stood between two smiles: one he gave to the world, and another he kept for himself, so he would not collapse.
He then raised his eyes to Skairl, smiling with a hint of mockery.
"You know… you are very different from Ayak. He sees nothing but duty, while you still cling to worry… That makes you heavier on me, but it amuses me more."
Skairl opened his mouth to respond, only to be surprised by Aiyant's hand gently patting his shoulder.
"Don't worry… This time, I'll take you with me. Perhaps you will understand more than you think."
Skairl faltered for a moment, but his eyes filled with astonishment and gratitude. As for Aiyant, he only gave a short laugh—one that seemed to rise above a stormy sea within him, a sea with no shore.
---