The air felt suffocating.
Alwen's eyes blinked rapidly, his question bursting forth from the depths of his soul...
"Is it really true, Ronan?"
Ronan stood still for a long moment, his gaze dropping to the ground like a guilty man. Finally, he sighed, nodded coldly, without any excuse.
That nod was like a sword stabbing straight into Alwen's chest.
The last line of defense in his heart, the simple faith that the person beside him had always kept his word over so many years, was nearly shattered.
He collapsed, his body trembling, his eyes filled with chaos.
The king stood silently, his eyes showing a mix of sorrow and regret, but no words could escape his lips. The courtiers, knights, and people around only gaped in shock, none daring to believe what had just happened.
Magnus smirked mockingly...
"You were always just a ragged street urchin. If not for my patronage, you would have died in that place long ago!"
He turned to look at Alwen.
"Alwen, you've always been in the palm of my hand. Everything you have now is thanks to my arrangements!"
Then he looked straight at Ronan, his eyes sharp like steel hooks tightening a noose around his neck with the offer...
"But I am generous. I'll give you a second chance. Forget all that nonsense called conscience, forget that ridiculous 'meaning.' Stand by my side, become my Demon Knight."
"But you must... deal with him right now!!"
Ronan stood motionless for a beat, Alwen staring straight at him, his gaze now deep and profound. The sword in Ronan's hand rose high above Alwen's head.
Magnus smiled triumphantly, Ronan's blade lowering gradually.
The people were enveloped in fear, preventing anyone from standing up.
Alwen's chest felt constricted, his eyes shrouded in deep darkness; he couldn't believe what was happening...
He couldn't believe that in the moment when he thought he could rise, it was swiftly extinguished.
He couldn't believe those brief moments left only ruins behind.
And he absolutely couldn't believe that the person who had followed him for so many years was just a finely carved wooden mask.
In his heart, he couldn't accept these things, but deep in that despair, he still harbored a flicker of faith... about something.
Ronan's mouth parted slightly... with a dry, raspy voice, speaking slowly.
"I once wanted to stand above those who trampled me,"
"I once wanted to become the strongest. I played the role, I disguised myself."
Ronan's eyes lit up strangely.
Magnus immediately stopped laughing.
He realized something was wrong.
But it was too late.
Ronan spun around.
The sword swung up so fast that eyes couldn't follow.
The steel blade sliced through the air—not toward Alwen, but at the weak point on Magnus's throat, right where the spear had once pierced.
The sound of the slash tore through the sky.
Rocks and dirt flew up into a massive dust column, enveloping the entire battlefield.
Amid the astonishment and disbelief of everyone, Ronan continued speaking in a low, whispery voice, with an astonishing calm.
"But I realized that... power only has meaning when used to protect, not to trample. I kept my promise, to someone who gave me a place to shelter..."
Ronan turned back to look at Alwen.
His hand extended slowly toward him, as if to pull up the frail prince from the past.
"'...if you are the prince, then I will be your support.'"
Ronan's words left Alwen stunned.
He remembered that day, the moment when the man who had cowered before thugs one minute, extended his hand to help him up the next... It seemed it really wasn't a mask...
He smiled... lightly, but brighter than any light.
His still-trembling hand quickly grasped Ronan's, accepting the hand from the one who had given him so many emotions—a supporter, a friend, or perhaps a brother...
In that moment, all sounds seemed to vanish: no more dragon roars, no more screams, no more labored breaths from the remaining soldiers.
Only two people, a prince and a traitor, standing amid a sea of ruins, holding each other's hands like a final promise.
Ronan bowed his head slightly, his breath forming a faint mist in the cold air.
"Thank you..." his voice was hoarse, trembling, but each word clear.
"...for believing in me... even just once."
That moment was strangely peaceful.
Alwen only managed a faint smile, grasping the extended hand.
A tight grip, as if afraid that letting go would make everything disappear.
Sinking into the stream of the past, those days when the shadows of two children always walked together, the months when two people were never separated...
*...*
"Consider that your answer!"