Before they were to leave for the new mission to clear a Demon Gate World, the party members whose family were present in the Bastion, were allowed a word with them.
Amongst them Aethelstan, even though he didn't really want to, was called to his father's private chambers.
Inside the room, the air was thick and suffocating. In a literal sense as well.
There were no windows, only heavy iron braziers burning with low, crackling flames. But at least a magical machination kept the room cool.
King Alfred sat behind a golden table, his hands clasped together. His eyes were fixed on his son, cold and direct, like the prince was used to.
Aethelstan stood before the table. For a Knight his level, and the crowned Prince of the Human Kingdom, he looked incredibly small.
His golden eyes, usually alight with arrogant fire, were fixed on a crack in the floorboards. He could feel a cold sweat pooling beneath his heavy breastplate.
