Chapter 17
Soft footsteps in polished boots echoed through the long corridor lined with stained-glass windows. A tall, slender figure advanced confidently, pushing a gold-trimmed cart with impeccable craftsmanship. Dressed in an elegant emerald-green uniform embroidered with gold, Seed—the ever-faithful assistant—wore his usual smile as he softly hummed an old melody. His flowing cape swayed behind him with every step.
Reaching a massive oak door carved with alchemical motifs, he knocked twice before entering without waiting for a response.
The room beyond was as vast as it was chaotic. Three large desks cluttered with parchments, stacked books, and half-finished potions occupied the center. Floor-to-ceiling shelves replaced the walls, sagging under the weight of ancient grimoires, sealed artifacts, and mysterious vials.
Seed sighed quietly but kept smiling as he carefully maneuvered the cart through the mess toward the central desk.
"Young master?" he called cheerfully, addressing the mountain of documents piled over the main chair.
A sudden jolt answered him. Papers flew into the air as a thin, pale figure jerked upright. Sitting cross-legged in his chair, Arzhel blinked rapidly, clearly startled out of an unintended nap. His silver hair was a mess, falling into his face, and his vivid red eyes gleamed—oddly sharp despite the lazy yawn he let out. His black shirt was wrinkled, his red coat draped carelessly over his shoulders, and a crimson earring caught the candlelight.
Seed placed the tray neatly on the desk: a rare steak, golden potatoes, an elegant dessert, and a tall glass of dark berry juice. The thirteen-year-old began eating without a word, like a languid yet elegant predator, while Seed immediately started tidying up around him.
"The Master is asking for you," Seed said more evenly, setting a fallen celestial globe back in place. "You won't be able to avoid him forever."
Arzhel didn't even look up from his plate. He chewed calmly before murmuring with a smug smile:
"Try forcing me."
Seed pouted briefly, earning an eye roll from his young master.
"I've got a much more important appointment than massaging the old man's feet," Arzhel muttered as he lifted his glass.
"And that important appointment wouldn't happen to be the object of your obsession, would it?" a gruff voice cut in from the doorway. "Aren't you a bit young to be this fixated?"
Seed straightened instantly, offered a respectful bow, then quietly returned to his duties. Arzhel stuffed another bite into his mouth and glanced at the newcomer with mild annoyance—before a crooked grin spread across his face.
"You came all this way just to see me?" he asked sweetly. "Take a seat, Grandpa. Wouldn't want you throwing your back out."
Seed shook his head, stifling a fond sigh. Same routine. Same almost-affectionate verbal sparring.
Eldrin Umbra stormed forward, brows knitted.
"You little brat! I didn't raise you like this!" he barked, raising his fist in mock threat.
Arzhel burst out laughing, completely unfazed.
"I pity that poor girl," Eldrin muttered, shaking his head. "Having to deal with a delinquent like you setting his sights on her…"
"Thank you for your concern," Arzhel replied with an elegant bow, eyes narrowed, grin sharp. "Though I'm far more worried about you, old man…" His smile widened dangerously. "I mean, really. I'm young. Charming. Young again for emphasis. And you?"
Seed barely managed to suppress a snort before resuming his professional composure.
A fireball suddenly tore through the air toward Arzhel's head. He leaned aside lazily, dodging it as if it were nothing.
"Little shit," Eldrin growled, rubbing his temple. "Now—go see your father before he floods my ears with his whining."
Arzhel clicked his tongue, clearly irritated.
"He wants me to stop doing anything fun. No magic, no freedom. Just politics, diplomacy, etiquette. You get the picture. Wanna cut off communications and adopt me instead?" he pleaded, eyes sparkling with theatrical misery.
Eldrin stared at him like one would at a wolf pretending to be a lamb.
"And lose valuable allies—sorry, pigeons—because of your furry ass?" he scoffed, turning toward the door. "Move, or I'll drag you myself. I'm not your damn messenger."
"You old fossil!" Arzhel groaned, half-standing.
"Shut it!"
Arzhel flopped back into his chair dramatically. Seed laughed openly this time.
"You'll come with me, Seed?" Arzhel asked hopefully.
"I'm on vacation, young master," Seed replied smugly. "My replacement will be delighted to accompany you."
Arzhel grimaced.
"I'm going to see Vidalia… At least she knows how to comfort me."
He threw on his cape, grabbed his teleportation stone, and vanished in a flash of light.
Seed stared at the empty chair, then at the still-chaotic room.
"Well… work can wait," he murmured, smiling.
His gaze drifted to a forgotten box of sweets on the shelf, a feline glint lighting his eyes.
"…It's dessert time~"
Vidalia was exactly where Arzhel had imagined her—sitting beneath the great tree atop the hill overlooking the Sullivan manor. An open book rested on her lap, her bare feet tucked beneath her servant's dress.
But what truly stunned him was this—
She wasn't wearing her veil.
Her midnight-blue hair shimmered in the breeze, framing her delicate face and slender form. Arzhel froze, eyes wide, struck breathless by the ethereal sight.
He took a few steps forward, his body still humming with the softness of the moment. Every burden melted away at the mere sight of her.
Vidalia looked up from her book and lit up when she saw him. Her gentle, radiant smile shattered his heart completely.
"If your goal was to kill me with a heart attack," he said, collapsing beside her, "congratulations. My soul just made peace with the world. You're lethal."
She laughed, incredulous.
"Why would you say that?"
He met her innocent gaze, sighed fondly, and gently patted her head.
"You're too gentle for this world… I came to cry in your lap. Subtle difference."
He settled beside her, inching closer, breathing in her comforting scent—fresh linen and autumn leaves.
"I've been sent on a suicide mission… to a tyrant father," he dramatized.
"Is it dangerous?" she asked, frowning. "I never understand what you do up there in that tower."
She closed her book and turned fully toward him, worry clouding her emerald eyes. Arzhel shivered in bliss—he loved having her full attention.
Sorel, his spirit, watched with open disdain before flying off toward Naya in the flower field.
Arzhel shot it a glare. Not his fault he was hopelessly in love.
"Worry about me properly," he winked, "that way I'll have a good excuse to come back faster. You're the only one in this world who can order me around."
She frowned and lightly smacked his arm. He laughed and dodged playfully.
Then he reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a carefully wrapped box, offering it with theatrical grace.
"What is it?" she asked, holding it delicately.
"I figured you'd be nicer to me if you were busy chewing cake."
She brightened, then pouted as she opened it.
"You make it sound like I'm mean to you."
Inside lay an assortment of pastel-colored sweets adorned with candied fruit. Her smile bloomed instantly.
Arzhel nodded, satisfied. He would gladly burn the world to ashes for that smile.
"You know you look like a feral cat," she teased.
"Only if you share," he growled playfully.
She picked up a small cake, hesitated… then held it out to him.
"Say 'aaah,' kitten," she whispered, blushing furiously.
His heart nearly exploded.
He obeyed—and immediately choked.
"That's disgustingly sweet!"
She curled her legs beneath her and rested her head on his knees, smiling softly.
"Just like you."
He stared—then burst out laughing, genuine and bright.
"I think I corrupted you."
"Not true," she huffed, munching a strawberry shortcake.
A warm silence settled between them.
"You're the best part of my days, Vidalia," he murmured.
She didn't answer—just leaned her head against his shoulder.
It was enough.
After a while, he spoke again:
"So… how was your week? The witches didn't bother you too much, I hope?"
She lit up instantly.
"I made a friend!"
Fuck.
Who the hell is that?
Arzhel's eyes narrowed, the air around them heating up—unnoticed by Vidalia, happily lost in her story.