Kaelith merely nodded absentmindedly, still lost in his own mind.
Unaware that Caelum was still watching him, Kaelith remained lost in his thoughts. The weight in his chest told him all he needed to know, he had to attend the wedding. If not for diplomacy, then for answers.
He needed to put an end to the mystery surrounding him and Virelle.
The room felt too tight, the silence heavy, broken only by the soft clinking of spoons and forks.
His appetite had long since vanished.
He gently set his fork down, the quiet clink cutting through the stillness.
"I'm finished. I'll take my leave, Father," he said, rising from his seat.
Lysenia looked up, concerned. "But you barely touched…"
"I said I'm finished," Kaelith repeated, this time with less sharpness, more weariness.
He turned to leave.
But before he could take a full step away from the table, his father's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"And Kaelith," King Malrec said, lifting his cup to his lips, "I'll need you to come to my chambers. At dusk."
Kaelith's spine stiffened.
His fists clenched at his sides, "Yes father." He answered immediately and walked out without another word.
As the door closed behind him, the weight of the King's gaze lifted, but something colder pressed down on him instead.
While Caelum watched in silence, his expression was unreadable. Only when Kaelith was gone did his lips part slightly, as if about to speak…. but the words never came.
Instead, Caelum turned back to his fish, though his thoughts were no longer on breakfast.
***
Kaelith entered his chambers and shut the door behind him with more force than necessary.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Seems like every time Virelle's name is mentioned, this body reacts on its own…"
Thank the Gods he was already in his room…the silence in his room was a rare relief.
He walked straight to the shelf near his bed, where he had tucked the letter away this morning… right before he was called for breakfast.
He pulled it free, the parchment slightly wrinkled from being shoved into his robe.
For a long moment, he simply stared at it, fingers trembling just slightly.
Then he unfolded it and began to read, slowly, word by word.
****
If you're reading this, then your marriage to the Sea Witch Prince has already been sealed. You're probably wondering why I waited so long to send this message.
There's something I need you to know…
I'm pregnant.
This isn't meant to stir trouble. I only want to talk. Privately. Just once.
I used to dream of a future where it was us, you and me, raising our children. But I know now that future won't come.
Whatever you think of me, whether there's still a piece of love, or just the memory of friendship. I'm asking you, for the last time, to meet me.
Please. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.
V.>
Kaelith's heart skipped.
"Pregnant?" he muttered, eyes narrowing.
A cold chill ran through him.
'No way. They didn't actually…. But… no. From the way this letter sounds, it doesn't feel like this body…. the original Kaelith is the father.'
He reread the lines, trying to find any hidden meaning, any clue in the way her words curved across the parchment.
But nothing changed.
Just the same ink. The same message.
The same soft ache in his chest that wasn't even his own.
"This just got more complicated…" he murmured, folding the letter with care.
"We need answers. And if I have to go to that wedding, so be it."
His jaw clenched.
One thing was certain, Virelle wasn't done with him yet.
Sighing, Kaelith sank onto his bed. Just then, an idea struck him.
"I've got nothing planned today… Why not train a bit? My mana core seriously needs an upgrade."
He paused, scoffing to himself.
"Hmph. That bastard didn't even think to offer me a pearl pill. Aren't I his husband?"
He immediately smacked his forehead.
"No…ugh, what the hell am I thinking?" he muttered, covering his face with both hands.
"This world is seriously getting on my nerves."
Shaking it off, he stood and strode to the chamber door. Peeking out, he spotted one of the guards stationed a little distance away.
"You," he called. "Summon my maid, Mira. Immediately," he ordered.
The guard nodded and hurried off down the corridor.
Kaelith closed the door and ran a hand through his hair again, pacing.
"Pearl pill, my ass," he muttered. "He probably hoards them in that frozen sea-palace of his."
He stopped pacing when the knock came.
"Enter," he called.
Mira slipped inside, bowing with her usual grace. "You called for me, my Lord?"
Kaelith turned to her, already heading toward his closet.
"Yes. Get me a fresh robe and light armor. I'm heading to the private yard to train. Also, bring me the lowest-grade mana restoration potion. The bitter one."
Mira blinked. "The bitter one? But you never touch…"
"I'm punishing myself," he cut in flatly.
"…Very well, my Lord."
Within minutes, she returned with a neatly folded training robe, light silver-threaded armor, and a small black flask.
Kaelith changed quickly, muttering curses as he pulled his hair into a loose tie.
"And please don't let the guards gossip. I'd rather not have Caelum show up mid-swing asking if I need a towel."
Mira gave a polite smile, but Kaelith could see the curiosity in her eyes.
He ignored it.
"I'll be back before dusk. Tell no one where I went unless it's Lysenia."
"As you command," she said softly, bowing.
And the moment Mira left, Kaelith slipped out of his chambers, pulling his robe tighter around him as he walked.
He wandered through the winding halls of the palace, pretending to casually observe the paintings and arches but in truth, he was retracing steps buried in someone else's memories.
At least the former Kaelith was useful for something, he thought dryly.
The path came back to him in pieces: the cold marble floors, the wall draped in blue banners, the scent of polished wood and faint mana residue from old training spells.
He rounded a corner and found himself standing before a tall, iron-laced gate tucked between two towers.
The private training yard.
Kaelith stepped inside.
It hadn't changed.
Circular, lined with enchanted runes to contain mana bursts, and surrounded by aged stone walls now draped in vines.
A few worn practice dummies stood in the corner, the weapon rack gleamed faintly in the dusk light and a portal door far ahead of him.
He walked to the center of the yard, rolled his shoulders, and drew in a long, steady breath.
Then he smirked to himself.
"I'll start with these dummies... see just how broken I really am."
Grabbing a staff from the rack, he stepped forward again, the golden light of dusk spilling across the rune-marked floor like a blessing or a warning.
He inhaled deeply… then moved.
His first strike was clean — a sharp arc that slammed into the chest of the nearest dummy.
The wooden figure rocked on its stand.
Kaelith spun, pivoted on his foot, and drove the butt of the staff into the side of another dummy's head with a satisfying thunk.
He picked up speed, his movements growing sharper, more fluid.
The rhythm was familiar, embedded somewhere deep in the body's memory.
The old Kaelith had clearly trained here countless times.
But this Kaelith — the one with a soul from another world — was fighting for something else entirely.
Not just to grow stronger…
But to take control.
Spinning on his heel, he ducked low and struck the next dummy hard in the legs.
"Tch… move," he muttered, following with a powerful upward jab that connected with a loud crack against its wooden jaw.
Thunk.
Crack.
He didn't stop.
"Argh!" he shouted, twisting the staff and delivering a powerful overhead blow that snapped a dummy's arm loose.
His breath grew heavier with every motion.
Sweat trickled down his spine, but his focus only sharpened.
Strike.
Parry.
Spin.
Attack again.
Mana began to stir faintly at his fingertips, flickering like unstable fire.
"Just a little more…"
He leapt back, then lunged forward with a burst of speed, slamming the tip of the staff into a dummy's gut with a loud grunt. "Take this…!"
The dummy toppled backwards.
Kaelith smirked.
'Not bad…'
Then he tried to channel mana again, reckless, raw.
"Hrrgh…!"
A wave of force blasted from the staff tip, too strong, too unstable. The mana rippled wildly and backfired.
Boom!
He was thrown backward, hitting the ground with a grunt, skidding a few feet across the training floor.
"Ugh, dammit…" he hissed, lying there for a second, panting.
His hand trembled as he pushed himself up slowly.
"Mana flow's still garbage… but at least I didn't pass out this time."
He chuckled dryly to himself, retrieving the staff. His body ached, but he wasn't done yet.
Not until the rage and confusion inside him were quieter.
Not until he felt in control.
"Again."
And from the ivy-shadowed archway, a pair of dying-storm eyes narrowed, watching every move.
He made no sound, no movement — only the quiet, watchful presence of someone who never left things to chance.