The room was silent—so silent it felt as if even the air refused to breathe.
Reinhardt sat at the head of the long table, not as an emperor, but as someone who carried the weight of a decade of secrets. The others—Elric, Iris, Robert—sat nearby. Kael sat at Reinhardt's right side, a thick file in his trembling hands.
He stared at the cover.
"Taylor Foundation: East Branch 34"
His fingers felt cold.
He opened the file. Faded paper, official imperial stamps, and then—
A child's photo.
A small boy with inky black hair and red eyes that glowed strangely even in the still image. Fragile shoulders. Thin cheeks. A blank expression, eyes dull but strangely alert—like a creature waiting to see whether the world intended to kill or spare him.
Under the image:
Subject No. 0: Blood of Eternity
Name: Michael
Birth: Unknown
Parents: Unknown
Origin: Abandoned at Church near Eastern Border
Notes: Black hair. Red eyes. Special mana response. Restricted specimen.
Kael's breath shook.
His name. His face. His scars.
Reinhardt's voice broke the silence, low, steady, yet heavy like stone sinking in water.
"I found those records after I became Emperor. They were hidden deep inside a sealed archive in the palace." He leaned forward, voice cold. "Taylor Foundation was not just a charity—it was a royal project. A breeding and experiment ground for cursed children."
Elric stiffened, hand pressing against her chest. Robert lowered his gaze. Iris' fingers curled tightly around her sleeve.
Reinhardt's tone darkened.
"Blood extraction. Organ trafficking. Ritual sacrifices. Slavery. All with royal approval, justified under 'curse purification.' And Kael…" His eyes shifted to the file, then to Kael. "You were the only one labeled Subject Zero. 'Blood of Eternity.' Their most valuable target."
Beside Kael, Elric reached for his hand, squeezing gently. Her palm felt warm—but his was ice cold.
Kael's lips trembled.
"...Blood."
His voice was thin, fragile.
"...they force me to take my blood…"
Everyone froze.
Iris' breath hitched, eyes widening with pain. Robert's hand curled into a fist, knuckles white. Elric pressed closer, protective.
Kael turned the page with shaking fingers. Faces stared back.
Children he had seen in his dreams. Red eyes. Red hair. Pale skin. Too thin. Empty stares.
All marked Deceased.
At the final page, bold red ink:
"East Branch 34 facility destroyed.
No survivors reported."
Kael swallowed hard.
"No survivors."
His voice cracked, barely audible.
"But I… I was there…"
Reinhardt exhaled long and deep.
"That facility burned to the ground in one night. No witnesses. No bodies. No escapees." His gaze softened. "And yet, days later… you appeared in another branch. Barely breathing. Covered in blood."
Kael stared blankly. His heartbeat hammered against his ribs.
A child lying in ash. Smoke. Screams. Moonlight on broken glass.
A lullaby.
Warm arms lifting him.
Running. Running—
"Who saved me?" Kael whispered.
Reinhardt turned, meeting Iris' stunned eyes.
"John Chesly," he answered quietly. "Former Archmage. Former Director of Chesly Academia. Iris' grandfather."
Iris froze. "Grandfather…?"
Reinhardt nodded. "We suspected the massacre wasn't a random tragedy. Someone inside tried to stop it. Your grandfather likely risked everything to pull Kael out."
Kael blinked rapidly. The room blurred for a moment. His heart struggled to keep pace with the truth.
Reinhardt continued, quieter now.
"The documents say you possessed something called 'Blood of Eternity.' I still don't know what it means. The knowledge died with the previous royal regime." His jaw tightened. "I killed those who ran the Foundation before I found this file. I have no more answers."
Silence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
Elric's voice finally broke it, soft but trembling.
"So Kael was… chosen? Or cursed?"
Reinhardt looked at Kael.
"He was born hunted."
Kael pressed a hand to his chest. "I… can't remember… everything. Only pieces. Faces. Pain. Children screaming. And someone… carrying me."
He forced a shaky breath, knuckles turning white where he clenched the file.
"I don't know what happened. My memories… only fragments."
Reinhardt leaned forward, voice low but firm.
"When we were children, I asked you once about your past. You told me you remembered nothing before waking in the palace." His eyes were gentle now. "We believed your mind erased the trauma to survive."
Iris wiped her eyes silently. Robert stared at Kael as if trying to carry half his pain for him. Elric squeezed his hand tighter, wishing she could shield him from the past.
Kael lowered his head, breath quivering.
"Why… why didn't I die… like them…?"
His voice was barely a breath.
"Why was I saved?"
Reinhardt's answer was quiet.
"Because fate is cruel but also merciful. And because someone chose to defy a kingdom for you."
Kael trembled, tears silently pooling at his lashes.
Reinhardt continued,
"Kael… you weren't spared by chance. You survived because someone believed you deserved to live."
Kael shut his eyes, one tear slipping down.
Silence again.
Broken only by Kael's soft, trembling breath.
-----------------------------------------
The study felt too large for one person. Kael sat alone on the sofa, the file heavy on his lap though his fingers no longer read the pages. Everyone had left him the space they'd promised; the door had closed on footsteps and whispers and the rustle of robes. He had asked for solitude. He wanted the truth to land without witnesses, to let the noise of other people's faces fade so he could listen to the steady beating of his own chest.
Instead the beating felt like a hammer.
Fragments kept arranging themselves into a cruel picture: ash, moonlight, a tray of meat, a hand that did not hold but took. The phrase in the file — Blood of Eternity — echoed in his head like a bell. A promise made in a dream rose, quiet and fierce: Licht's voice, live as Kael. If Kael was to keep that promise, he would have to sit in the ruin of what came before him. Acceptance was not gentle.
The study door opened without a sound and Iris stepped in as if she had been moving through the shadows all along. She closed it behind her softly and paused, watching him for a moment before she spoke.
"Is your head still hurting?" her voice asked, soft as linen. Kael did not answer, only turned to look at the file and then away again. He did not speak; he let the silence be an answer.
Iris sighed and sat beside him. The closeness was tentative, like a hand stretching toward a wound to see if it still thrummed.
"I didn't know you suffered like that," she said after a moment, eyes falling to the papers on the table. "I thought my life had been the worst. But… what you endured—" Her mouth tightened. She swallowed and reached up, pushing a loose curl behind her ear. "It was worse."
Kael stayed still, the only movement the tremor of his fingers along the spine of the file. He seemed to be gathering himself, building a wall of calm around an earthquake.
Iris's voice softened. "I was poor. My mother loved me though—she hid my hair with ribbons so people wouldn't see the red. But my father—he was a zealot. He said I brought sin. When my mother died, he sold me." She let out a small breath, the memory bright and bitter. "I ran away. I hid in the streets until Director Chesly found me. Sean Chesly saved me, adopted me. He and my grandfather—John Chesly—gave me a home."
She turned her face toward Kael like a mirror reflecting hope. "My grandfather would not look away from cursed children. He taught me to see them as people, not as omens." Her voice cracked with the faintest tremor. "He must have seen something in you too. He… he would have done anything."
Kael's jaw worked. He did not speak; he only watched the way Iris's eyes shone with memory and, beneath it, with apology. There was a whole history in the way she spoke about her grandfather — gratitude braided with guilt.
"You are strong, Kael," Iris continued, the words simple and fierce. "The strongest person I know. You learn fast, you fight harder, and you protect everyone even when you have nothing left." Her hand rested for a moment on the file, as if grounding him to the present. "You rarely let anyone see your suffering."
Kael's gaze met hers. For a moment something like recognition flickered in his eyes — a faint lighthouse in fog. He wanted to say thank you; he wanted to speak, to name the memory that pressed behind his teeth. But sound refused him. The promise to live as Kael required patience; words would return soon, perhaps, but not now.
Iris's hand slid from the file to his shoulder, an offer of warmth. "We are here," she said quietly. "Even if you forget, we will be with you."
She smiled then, the small, relieved smile of someone who has found what they feared had been lost. Tears gathered and trailed down her cheeks as she whispered, "I'm glad you came back to us, Kael. I thought—" She paused, breath hitching, and the plea escaped, soft and shameless. "I thought I failed you."
Kael's face flickered with images — the girl with a large witch's hat, the frantic hands weaving healing, a lullaby hummed under smoke. He remembered Iris's hands on him in a place where sorrow had been the only teacher. He wanted to say the name that was swelling in his chest, to tell her that fragment of salvation had been a beacon. Nothing formed. Instead, he kept his silence and let the tide of memory roll over his mind.
Iris stood slowly and then, with that cautious urgency people reserve for those they love most, she asked, "Kael… may I hug you?" The question landed like a warm hand.
He started — startled not by the request but by how much it mattered. Hesitantly, he nodded. He trusted her. He allowed the closeness.
She knelt and wrapped him up like a secret. Her arms were small but steady, and she held him as though she could anchor him to a world that sometimes spun too fast. Kael felt awkward at first, as though he were a stranger in his own skin, but he did not pull away. Iris pressed her forehead to his hair and whispered, "Thank you. For staying alive."
Her fingers threaded into his hair, smoothing the chaos away as if she could rearrange his past into something kinder. She hugged him like a sister might—firm, fierce, forgiving.
Unseen at the slightly ajar door, Elric watched.
She was meant to be the stony, unbending shield—the commander who met storms with a blade. The sight of Iris kneeling, weeping, holding Kael like a frightened child cracked something in her chest. It began as a small, bitter tang behind her ribs, then it became a tightness that made her breath shallow.
Jealousy was a simple animal; it came on quick, smelling possessiveness in the air where only gratitude had been intended. Elric's fingers curled around the doorframe until her knuckles blanched. The rational part of her berated herself—he needs comfort. She is his friend. He remembers Iris. You can wait. But another, more honest part of her felt the prick of being displaced at the exact place where she had thought she belonged.
She watched how Kael did not pull away from Iris, how his weight had leaned toward comfort, how his face softened in a way she had rarely been allowed to see. Every gentle motion between them was a small, bright pain.
Elric closed her eyes for one shaky breath, trying to marshal the discipline she commanded in the field. She told herself to step forward, to be practical—Kael needed both of them. She forced her shoulders down and took one careful step back, straightening the mask she had worn so often. She would not intrude; she would not make the moment about her. But as she moved away, the ache did not ease. It lodged itself in her throat like a bitter thing she could not swallow.
Inside, Iris murmured to Kael, smoothing the hair at his temple. "You don't have to carry it alone." Her voice was low, holy.
Kael let the whisper anchor him. The hug loosened, and Iris rose, brushing away tears with quick, embarrassed fingers. She knelt once more to meet his eyes, swallowed, and whispered, "Thank you, Kael. For staying."
From the darkness near the doorway Elric's shadow stretched long and thin. She turned away, forcing a smile that did not reach her eyes, and walked down the hall as if to command something—anything—to banish the small, stubborn twinge in her chest.
Kael watched Elric's silhouette go, a small, unreadable expression crossing his face. He did not call her back. He simply let the quiet settle, pockets of memory and new loyalty braided together like dawn and shadow.
Iris straightened and stepped back. She took a breath and gave him a small, hopeful smile. "You should rest. There is much to face, and you need your strength." She kept her voice bright for Kael's sake, though her fingers still trembled.
He inclined his head, the closest thing he could manage to a reply. Silence settled again, but it was different—less lonely, threaded now with hands that would not let go.
Outside the room, Robert's soft footsteps moved like a promise down the hall. Elric paused once, just beyond sight, handing over her heart as though checking that it still beat steady. The jealousy was still there, ember-bright, but beneath it sat another truth: she would stand guard. Whatever feelings gnawed at her, they would not shake her duty. Kael needed protectors, not possession.
Tonight, they would both keep watch. Tomorrow, they would fight to teach him how to live in a world that had once tried to use his blood as a weapon. For now, they kept a fragile peace—three silent sentinels surrounding the man who woke to bits of himself and had chosen, stubbornly, to stay.