On that quiet night, Sophia stirred awake, a faint dizziness lingering in her head.
"Mom…" she whispered softly, her eyes drifting as she scanned the unfamiliar room. It was not the guest room where she had been with her mother, but another space entirely. From the ornate furnishings and the vast bed, it was clearly a private bedroom.
"Oh… right," she murmured, exhaling as memory caught up with her. Earlier that evening, after waking on her mother's lap in the guest room, she had been promptly attended to by the Imperial Psychologist, who helped stabilize her unconscious realm. Afterward, she was guided to a room where she could rest until her next check-up the following day.
As Sophia's consciousness began to solidify, an unexpected thought surfaced. Her fingers curled slightly against the sheets.
'I want to see Cal.'
Without hesitation, she rose from the bed and dressed, exchanging her nightwear for something more suitable for a quiet outing. She smoothed her clothes once, then moved toward the door, her hand pausing briefly on the handle. She glanced back over her shoulder, giving one last look to the bed, where the black cat lay curled, its chest rising and falling steadily.
"Sir Seraphix, I'll be back," she whispered.
She eased the door shut behind her and stepped into the dim corridor of the imperial palace.
***
Inside his personal library, as Grigori sat quietly reading, a knock interrupted him. Though he had not checked who stood behind the door, he already knew, having called for him through a 'messenger' only a few hours earlier.
"Come in," Grigori said, closing the book with a soft thud and setting it aside.
A young man stepped into the room. He had a friendly-looking face, yet his golden, slit-shaped eyes held a sharp and penetrating gaze. His straight golden hair framed a stoic expression. It was the imperial prince, Calyxianov Kalashnikov, his one and only son.
"Have a seat," Grigori said, lifting a hand and gesturing toward the couch positioned directly in front of him.
Calyxianov walked over and sat down, his posture upright, his expression unchanged.
'The same face as always, huh.'
Though it had not always been this way, his son now wore a face devoid of emotion. Whether with him, at noble gatherings, or in important meetings, that expression rarely changed. Even so, he knew there was one person who could still reach his otherwise rigid son.
"When will you be returning to the academy?" Grigori asked, breaking the silence.
"I'll be leaving tomorrow," Calyxianov replied briefly.
"Will you be traveling with Sophia?"
At the mention of her name, Grigori noticed his son's slit pupils widen slightly before settling again.
'You're too easy to read,' he thought, mildly amused.
"Yes."
"Sophia won't be able to make it by tomorrow. Can you postpone the trip?"
"What happened to her?" Calyxianov asked instead, his voice raising slightly.
"She was involved in an incident, but she's fine. She's currently under treatment, and it should be completed by tomorrow."
Both Calyxianov and Sophia are now attending an academy abroad. Considering the long travel they must go through, Grigori judges that traveling immediately after getting treated will be bad for Sophia.
"I understand. I will reschedule our travel," Calyxianov said at once. "Is that all?"
"Yes."
Calyxianov then rose and walked toward the door.
'I haven't even told him to leave yet…'
Though it seemed disrespectful, Grigori let it go. To some extent, he understood what his son was going through. Much like himself, his son also possessed the rare bloodline ability known as the Eyes of Discernment. And with all the blessing a bloodline ability, it also carries its curses.
For Grigori, the Eyes of Discernment allowed him to see beyond mere illusions; he could perceive what he understood as the 'truth' of anything. With it, he could identify 'deception' in words, decisions, gestures, and even appearances when they diverged from that 'truth'.
As a result, trust was the most precious possession a Kalashnikov could hold, given their constant exposure to the 'deception' around them. For them, there were essentially two paths to live their life: feign ignorance while expecting some degree of betrayal of their surroundings, or, as Calyxianov seemed to choose, withdraw completely, never opening up with even the smallest risk of betrayal.
"Calyxianov," Grigori called.
His son paused, fingers already wrapped around the doorknob, the door slightly ajar. He turned his head back.
"Is there anything else?" Calyxianov asked.
"Sophia is staying for the night in the palace."
Calyxianov's eyes widened in surprise, his composure cracking for the first time.
But Grigori was not finished with the surprises.
"Also," he added, "she has become a nine-stroke beast tamer."