When the private dining room door was pushed open and that familiar, detestable figure—Elder Caenis—prepared to enter with her customary arrogant demeanor, Phaethon's icy voice, like a poison‑tipped icicle, pierced the silence without warning:
"Stop." His voice was not loud, yet it carried an undeniable, penetrating force.
Caenis's footsteps jerked to a halt, a flicker of astonishment crossing her face.
Phaethon slowly turned around. His gaze was sharp as a blade, the corner of his mouth lifted in a sneer that held no attempt at concealment. "You are advanced in years, and your legs are not what they used to be. It's better you don't enter. Should you take a nasty fall on this carpet, I fear my carpet might polish off the filth you're so proud of, accumulated from scrubbing pools." Every word was like poison coated in sugar, superficially respectful yet filled with the utmost contempt.
Phaethon took a step forward, his gaze pressing down on Caenis like a physical weight, interrogating her without any courtesy:
"Speak. What brings you here this time? As usual, to hypocritically deliver money, to bestow your pitiful, revocable empty authority? Or to repeat your old tricks, delivering some tattered art that no one can understand, touted as high art?"
He scoffed, his eyes turning even colder. "Or perhaps… to deliver some so‑called 'peerless beauties,' wanting to plant spies in my hotel?"
The arrogance on Caenis's face was pricked by Phaethon's rapid‑fire ridicule, becoming difficult to maintain. She took a deep breath. A trace of venom flashed in her murky, aged eyes before transforming into a near‑mad delight.
"Neither, Phaethon," her voice trembled slightly from excitement, yet carried a twisted pleasure. "I have… had enough of you, you despicable, shameless, ungrateful little bastard!"
She took a menacing step forward, her turbid eyes fixed on Phaethon. Her lowered voice was like a venomous snake's hiss. "I presume… you've heard of the 'Cleaners' fame? Those hyenas who walk in the shadows, recognizing only orders, not people."
Seeing Phaethon's pupils contract imperceptibly, the smile on Caenis's face grew even more distorted.
"I admit, that bitch Aglaea protects the Holy City like an iron bucket… But!" Her voice suddenly rose, brimming with malicious excitement. "That pink‑haired little chit! She leaves the Holy City alone every week to go to Janusopolis to study priestly knowledge, doesn't she? Janusopolis has quite a few remote paths… tsk tsk tsk."
Caenis extended her withered finger, making an extremely cruel gouging motion in front of her own eyes, her face wearing a sickly rapture.
"Tell me… if that fairy‑like, adorable girl were to suddenly lose those pretty, expressive eyes of hers… When she cries, would those crystal‑clear tears perhaps be… a beautiful gold? As dazzling as her Golden Lineage? Hmm? Hahahaha!"
She watched as Phaethon's expression visibly cooled completely. Deep within those eyes that always held a touch of laziness and mockery, it seemed as if glacial ice from hell were congealing and spreading.
This reaction gave Caenis immense satisfaction. She laughed heartily, hysterically:
"Angry, are you, Phaethon? Want to rush out immediately and grind the entire Council of Elders to dust?!"
She laughed until tears nearly streamed, her tone full of the triumph of having everything under control. "I know that woman Aglaea too well! Her head is full of nothing but the Holy City's stability! The greater good! She would never allow you to run wild and massacre freely for the sake of some little chit! Hahaha! What can you gain by following her? Shackles! Chains!"
Caenis abruptly cut off her laughter. Her murky eyes flashed with a tempting, deceptive light, her voice taking on a seductive tone. "Why not… come with me! Just nod, sign this agreement, become my power… and that pink‑haired little girl will naturally be safe and sound. Otherwise…" She drew out her words, admiring Phaethon's suppressed, icy expression as if appreciating a piece of art about to shatter.
"I give you only three days to consider." As if suddenly remembering something, she added with overflowing malice: "Oh, by the way. I heard… your birthday is tomorrow?"
An extremely vicious, viper‑like smile appeared on Caenis's face. "I hope… you will like this 'birthday gift' I'm giving you! Hahahaha!"
Amidst her wild laughter, she "slapped" a long‑prepared parchment agreement—covered in dense clauses—heavily onto the expensive rosewood table in the center of the room! The sound was particularly jarring in the silent private room.
On the agreement, listed were one extremely harsh clause after another demanding Phaethon's complete loyalty and obedience to all of Caenis's commands, each word reeking of the stench of power and the shackles of the soul.
With the bearing of a victor, Caenis turned and strode out, head held high, leaving behind a room filled with oppressive cold and that agreement symbolizing a naked threat.
Phaethon stood where he was, motionless. The private room was utterly silent, only the occasional soft crackle from the firewood in the hearth.
He slowly raised his eyes, his gaze falling on that glaring agreement.
The corner of his mouth curled upward bit by bit, finally forming a curve so cold it seemed capable of freezing souls.
Phaethon suddenly laughed, a laugh so low it seemed to come from the depths of the underworld, carrying a chilling calm. "Like it?… I 'like'… this birthday gift of yours very much, Caenis."
…
The next evening.
Aglaea and Phaethon sat in a relatively quiet corner, with several specially arranged grilled fish dishes before them.
Aglaea's gaze carefully measured the clothes Phaethon wore—black as the base, with white and blue accents. Every stitch had once passed under her fingertips, touched again and again.
She spoke calmly. "Phaethon, you've finally… agreed to wear it?"
Hearing this, Phaethon's slender fingers instinctively brushed over the soft lapel of his garment.
A light, gentle smile curved his lips. His blue eyes shimmered with a soft luster under the warm light.
"To use Sister Cyrene's words, at twenty, it's the age to be steady and reliable. For a birthday, one should always change into something more presentable, to let those who care about me… be happy."
"But Phaethon…" Aglaea set down her knife and fork. Her fingertip traced the cool surface of her glass. Her voice lowered, taking on a note of gravity. "About the Council of Elders, about Caenis's threat yesterday, I…"
Before she could finish, Phaethon gently shook his head. The smile on his face remained gentle, but a sharpness, barely perceptible, flashed deep within his blue eyes.
"Lady Aglaea," his voice was even yet carried an indisputable force. "Tonight is for celebration. Let's not talk about those troublesome matters for now, alright?"