Trey spent years working under Valter Ascension. Each passing month carved deeper cracks into whatever remnants of humanity he still clung to. The endless assignments, the careful assassinations, the silencing of scholars and advocates — all of it began to form a picture. And when the pattern emerged, Trey finally understood why Gale had been marked for death.
He supported the convergence.
The thought lingered like an old wound. Every man he'd been ordered to kill shared that same belief — that elves and humans could stand together under one throne.
Trey often returned to the borderlands between assignments. The familiarity of home never offered comfort, but it gave him a sense of rhythm, a cycle that dulled his guilt. One of those visits, however, changed everything.
Reymund Ascension himself approached him in the courtyard one gray morning.
"Hello, Trey," Reymund said evenly, his gaze sharp but not unkind. "From what I've heard, you work under the council. How would you like to be hired part-time — to teach my son the ways of the sword?"
Trey had hesitated only briefly. There was no mission waiting for him, no grand cause that held his loyalty. So he accepted. If nothing else, perhaps the child could learn what I never could.
Days bled into months, months into years. He taught Cecilus Crow discipline and precision, the art of reading an opponent before drawing the blade. And while Trey trained him, he observed.
Cecilus grew quickly — too quickly. His movements refined, his technique sharpened, but what unnerved Trey wasn't the boy's skill. It was the calm. The silence in his eyes.
By the time Cecilus turned ten, he could disarm grown men with frightening grace. Still, Trey knew it wasn't enough. If I faced him, I could end it within seconds. How would he ever stand against Valter?
Then came the news that changed everything. Cecilus had visited the elven tribes and earned their allegiance. The borderlands were whispering about him, about the half-elf boy whose name was now mentioned alongside the throne itself.
When Trey next returned to the capital, his fears were confirmed. Valter had summoned him.
The royal sat reclined in a velvet chair, gold-embroidered sleeves shimmering in the firelight. His smile was razor-thin.
"You've already reached the point of no return, Trey," Valter said softly. "You killed your master for me. So now you must do something of equal value."
Trey's pulse quickened. His throat felt dry.
"What… do you mean?"
"Killing your student."
The words struck him harder than any blade.
Valter leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a cruel satisfaction. "I expect great things."
Trey's thoughts shattered.
No… this can't be real.
Why him? Why me?
I've already killed the man I admired most. I've already burned my soul to ashes…
There's nothing left to covet except my own survival.
A year passed. The order hung over him like a curse that refused to fade.
Then winter came — sharp and heavy, cloaking the capital in stillness. Trey was summoned again, and what greeted him was far worse than before.
Valter's eyes were bloodshot, veins standing out like cracks in marble.
"Regnier is dead," he hissed. "And I am almost certain the devil, Cecilus Crow, is the one responsible."
Trey stood motionless, fear biting at his spine.
"I am a fair man," Valter continued. "Regnier's family will be rewarded. But I've lost a pawn — my dear sister. So tell me, Trey… it's been a year, and Cecilus still lives. Why?"
Trey's lips trembled. "His magic type… it detects intent. He refuses to take the poison."
"Not an excuse."
Pain exploded through Trey's body. Every bone screamed, every vein burned as if molten lead coursed through him. His vision dimmed, his body convulsing under invisible chains.
He collapsed. The sound of his own teeth grinding echoed faintly in the chamber.
"The New Year's party your Duke is hosting draws near," Valter's voice slithered through the agony. "You will begin the plan after the celebration. You understand what defiance means."
The pain stopped.
Trey gasped, clutching his chest, cold sweat dripping down his face. "Yes… I do, Lord Valter. I'll make sure the plan succeeds."
When he was dismissed, Trey could barely walk. His mind spun, half-prayer, half-panic.
What am I going to do?
Am I going to have to kill him directly?
Can I even do something like that?
***
The days leading up to the New Year were bright and restless. The Duke's estate bustled with carriages, servants, and endless deliveries. Every hallway hummed with preparations.
Cecilus spent the week as usual — pranking villagers, visiting Efrain and Marina — but on the final few days, his father summoned him.
"Cecilus," Reymund said, "it's time we both have new jackets and shirts tailored. You'll need to understand the process."
The boy tilted his head, surprised. His father had never involved him in such trivialities. But he followed regardless.
The tailor's shop smelled faintly of cedar and enchanted thread. A balding man with a long mustache greeted them, dressed in lavish purple robes.
"What kind of suits would you two like?"
"Both of us would like a black jacket and a white shirt," Cecilus replied before Reymund could speak.
Reymund raised a brow. "Why the plain colors?"
"I think it suits us better."
"Did we have to get the same?"
Cecilus's tone softened — barely. "Don't you want to be matching with your son, Father?"
Reymund smirked. "I'll humor you, just this once."
The tailor bustled away.
"Are you sure it won't take long?" Cecilus asked.
"Don't worry. He's a magic craftsman. His type enhances speed and precision. Magic defines our roles, just as my type defines mine. I use my barriers to protect my family."
"That's a large duty, Father," Cecilus said quietly. "How are you supposed to protect me when I'm already stronger than you?"
Reymund frowned at the bluntness.
He's usually calmer than this… what's gotten into him?
"I believe strength isn't everything," Reymund said after a pause. "Would you lay your life down for this cause, Cecilus?"
"No."
Reymund's expression dimmed. "Then you still haven't grown. I know you can see what I truly think, but I do believe in what I'm doing."
Cecilus's eyes widened. He hadn't expected his father to acknowledge his ability so openly.
"I know, Father," he muttered.
It's because you believe so deeply that you've forgotten happiness.
Reymund smiled faintly. "I'm glad you're speaking more today. You emanate perfection, Cecilus, but I want you to be a king who represents himself."
Cecilus said nothing. He only turned and walked out.
Your soul doesn't lie, Father. You don't care about crowns — only about acknowledgement.
He stepped onto the balcony. Night had already fallen, the stars scattered like cold dust above him. He summoned Aldo and ran his hand through the wolf's fur, the silence between them stretching long and heavy.
Then came the sound of footsteps.
His mother, Yeldove, emerged into the starlight. "The stars are beautiful, aren't they?"
Cecilus didn't answer.
"Why aren't you out with your friends? You're leaving after the party, aren't you?"
His face twitched. She knows?
Yeldove leaned against the railing, eyes soft but sharp. "How do you plan on escaping without your father finding you?"
"H-how do you know?"
She smiled faintly. "I'm your mother. Shouldn't I know?"
Her tone shifted — sharper now. "You've been distracted since the wedding. Do you not even remember what I once was? The Crow tribe were assassins, Cecilus. Did you really think I wouldn't notice you sneaking about?"
Cecilus froze.
"Do you truly think your father will ever stop looking for you?" she asked. "Do you think he'll give up on his favorite child?"
"Huh? What do you mean? Of course he will! His wish is to stay here — with you, not to raise me to be king!"
Yeldove's voice lowered, almost tender. "I already know that. This path wasn't your father's wish… it was mine."
His breath caught. "What?"
"I asked him to continue the convergence. I asked him to go beyond these lands and deal with the nobles he despised. His burden is mine."
"You witch! You manipulated him!"
"That's a bit harsh," she replied with a faint smile. "I told him my dream. He chose to make it real. But I've accepted it's a failure. You never wanted the throne, did you?"
Cecilus said nothing — only nodded.
"Then what do you want to do?" Yeldove asked softly. "Do you really want to run away? To go off on an adventure with children who can barely wield a blade?"
What do I want?
I don't know.
But she insulted Efrain… she doesn't want me to leave. Still, she's giving me a choice.
"My goals can change," Cecilus said at last. "But they have nothing to do with this place or our family."
Yeldove nodded. "Then go. I'll convince your father not to pursue you. I hope you find what you're looking for."
She left him on the balcony, the night wind brushing his hair. Cecilus clutched Aldo close, his voice trembling.
"What do I do, Aldo?"
The wolf only stared, silent and loyal. Eventually, Cecilus drifted into uneasy sleep.
***
He opened his eyes to find himself in his soul world. The air was thick with violet mist, endless and soundless.
"I'm back here again…" he murmured.
Stone golems rested beside a dark ridge; Aldo's presence was gone — still in the waking world.
"So peaceful," Cecilus whispered, sitting down. "Just a few more days. No reason to be sad. I have friends waiting for me."
He closed his eyes again, drifting into stillness.
When he awoke, dawn light filtered through his window.
My golem must've brought me to my room.
The party is tomorrow.
He stood by the window, staring at the frost gathering on the glass.
Will they be safe after I disappear?
Maybe I can still help from afar?
Then came his resolve — quiet, heavy, and absolute.
I won't become king, but at the very least, I will kill the enemies of my family.
The council will crumble.
I will make their suffering my purpose.