The heavy silence within the palace chamber had deepened with the morning light.
Astria sat perched on the edge of her vast, regal bed, her silk robes cascading like a waterfall onto the floor.
Across the room, Lane remained sprawled on the sofa.
Lying on his stomach, his chin propped up by his hands, he was once again immersed in that same mysterious book.
His fingers traced the ancient parchment with a focus so absolute.
It seemed as if the entire world had shrunk down to those ink-stained pages.
"Lane... eat something first. You can look at that later," Astria said, her voice soft but laced with authority.
Lane offered no reaction.
He continued to flip the pages, his concentration unbroken.
As Astria watched him, she noticed a profound change.
The terrifying crimson that had consumed his gaze last night was gone, vanished as if it were nothing but a fever dream.
In its place, the pure, molten gold had returned to his eyes—brighter and more piercing than ever before.
There was a new, crystalline clarity in his gaze, a shimmering intelligence that hadn't been there yesterday.
When he continued to ignore her, Astria raised her voice, letting it echo slightly against the high stone walls.
"Lane! I said, eat something!"
The sharp command finally pierced his focus.
Slowly, Lane lifted his head and fixed his golden gaze upon her.
There was no longer any confusion or vacant innocence in his expression.
"I am not hungry," Lane said.
The words were not the broken, stuttering fragments of a child struggling to speak.
They were sharp, clear, and delivered with a startling resonance.
Astria felt a momentary jolt of shock.
The boy who, only hours ago, could barely grasp the structure of a sentence was now speaking with a calm, deliberate weight.
There was a new sense of self, a quiet confidence in his tone that suggested he was no longer just a lost soul—he was beginning to understand his own power.
"Eat whenever you feel hungry," Astria said, yielding to his stubbornness as her voice softened.
Lane offered a brief "Okay" in response and immediately plunged back into the world of his book.
Astria watched him in silence for a few moments, but her own curiosity eventually got the better of her.
"Lane... do you actually understand the words in that book?" she asked.
Her eyes fixed on the weathered pages he had been staring at for so long.
"What are you looking at so intently? Can you even read it?"
Lane paused.
He narrowed his golden eyes as if connecting the thoughts within his mind.
Then, he slowly nodded his head.
"Do you understand everything?" Astria questioned further.
"No," came Lane's concise and honest reply.
Astria beckoned him over with a wave of her hand.
Lane picked up the book from the sofa and walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps.
He stood so close to her that the scent of the old parchment mingled with the air around them.
"What is it that you don't understand?" she asked gently.
Lane opened the book with a hint of hesitation and pressed a slender finger against a heavy, complex word.
The word was 'Cultivator'.
He was trying to read it, but the syllables wouldn't quite settle on his tongue.
Astria looked at the word and then at Lane's innocent face.
In a clear, serious voice, she pronounced the word for him and began to explain its deep, philosophical meaning.
But mid-explanation, she suddenly stopped and rubbed her forehead.
'What on earth am I doing?' an inner irritation flared.
'Am I seriously explaining ancient cultivation and complex philosophies to this small child?'
She sharpened her gaze and said, "Go. Go back to the sofa."
But Lane didn't budge.
He sat down right there beside Astria, as if he had claimed a rightful place by her side.
Without saying a word, he placed his finger on another word and looked at Astria with eyes full of expectation.
His silence asked a thousand questions.
He wanted to unlock every mystery hidden within those pages.
Astria let out a cold sigh, her gaze fixed on the defiant boy.
A single thought echoed in her mind— 'Why did I even call him to me?'
Inside the palace, an endless stream of questions had begun.
Lane, sitting close to Astria, traced his finger repeatedly over the weathered pages of the ancient book.
His lips were echoing the words with increasing clarity.
He moved from simple definitions to probing questions about history and ancient powers—subjects Astria had never discussed with anyone until today.
Astria, who had been patiently quenching his thirst for knowledge, suddenly fell silent.
She lifted her gaze from the text and turned toward the massive window directly in front of her.
A strange thought flickered through her mind.
By nature, she was a woman of few words; she rarely engaged in long conversations with anyone.
To have such a dialogue with Lane and reveal ancient facts felt almost unimaginable to her.
She began to wonder what it was about this boy that could so easily shatter her silence.
Outside, the sun had reached its zenith, its harsh brilliance making the golden walls shimmer intensely.
The midday sun beat down upon her face, and as she stared into the light, a strange gravity took hold of her expression.
She watched the horizon as if trying to decipher the thin line between the ghosts of the past and the shadows of the future.
Meanwhile, across the distance in the silent mansion, the atmosphere had shifted completely.
The head servant arrived with stacks of nine pairs of regular clothing along with three large, regal-looking boxes.
He bowed deeply before the elderly instructor.
"Master, I have brought the clothes and the materials from the academy as you commanded," the servant said respectfully.
The instructor's gaze fixed on the boxes.
Printed across the tops in bold, golden letters was the name of the institution: "Valthorin Institute of Hunters."
The instructor stepped forward and merely lifted the lids of the boxes slightly.
He did not take the uniforms out; he simply observed the packaging and the prestigious name of Valthorin.
Letting out a breath of satisfaction.
Through the packaging, the two 'Modern Academic Uniforms' were visible—sleek black blazers paired with white shirts.
In the third box, the deep blue shimmer and silver buttons of the 'Traditional Cadet Uniform' remained securely tucked away.
He quietly closed the lids and ensured the boxes were fully packed again.
A spark lit up his eyes, as if he already knew how these uniforms would change the fate of these children.
"Good," he said concisely, turning to the servant.
"Deliver these nine pairs of clothes and these three Valthorin boxes to the boys' rooms. Tell them to get ready."
The servant bowed and headed down the corridor with the heavy boxes.
The elderly man remained there, hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the sharp midday sun.
A smile played on his lips—one that signaled the gates of Valthorin were now open.
Inside the mansion, the air in the bedroom was thick with a heavy, stifling tension.
Luka was curled into a tight ball on one corner of the bed.
His arms wrapped desperately around his legs, pulling them close to his chest.
He had buried his face between his knees, hiding from the world.
Though he remained as still as a stone statue, the slight tremor in his shoulders betrayed the storm of anxiety raging within him.
Yuki sat on the edge of the bed right beside Luka.
His gaze fixed vacantly on the dark wood of the floorboards.
Across the room, Haru stood near the window, his posture restless yet his voice carrying a strange, grounded certainty.
"Luka, don't worry so much," Haru said, breaking the suffocating silence.
"I don't believe Lane is in any real danger."
Yuki snapped his head up, shooting a sharp, skeptical look at Haru.
"How can you say that with such certainty, Haru? You saw the state he was in. You saw the wound."
"That image... it won't let me rest. How can he not be in danger?"
Haru let out a long, slow exhale and looked toward Luka, who still hadn't raised his head.
"Yuki, you know it, and Luka, you know it too—Lane was never an ordinary child."
"There was something inside him, something that set him apart from the rest of us."
"I can feel it in my gut; he is still out there, and he is okay."
A conflict flickered in Yuki's eyes.
One part of him was haunted by the memory of the blood Lane had shed.
While the other part desperately wanted to cling to Haru's words.
Luka, however, remained silent, absorbing their conversation as if Lane's name was the only anchor keeping him from drifting away into despair.
The heavy silence was interrupted by a soft, measured knock at the door.
The head servant stepped inside.
He had checked the first two rooms only to find them empty.
Seeing all three of them gathered together in this third room brought a flicker of relief to his face.
He moved quietly, placing the stacks of clothes and the regal boxes onto the table.
"Sir has sent these clothes for the three of you," the servant said in a gentle, practiced tone.
"Please, freshen up and come downstairs. Breakfast has been prepared and the table is set. You must be famished."
Even after the servant retreated and the door clicked shut, the room remained still for a heartbeat.
The name 'Valthorin' embossed on the boxes seemed to shimmer, calling out to them.
Slowly, Luka lifted his head from his knees.
His eyes were rimmed with red, but within them was a newfound spark.
Perhaps the hope that by following this path, he would eventually find his way back to Lane.