Butler Xiwen let out a weary sigh before he spoke.
"He is still in a deep sleep."
The words hung heavily in the air of the chamber, thick with the scent of medicinal herbs and dried blood that no amount of incense could fully erase. The Emperor lay motionless upon the bed, his breathing steady now, though only hours earlier he had been anything but calm.
After the rampage, after the slaughter that claimed nearly half the palace's inhabitants, the red haze in Guren's eyes had finally receded. Clarity had returned just long enough for his body to give out beneath him. He had collapsed without warning, striking the stone floor like a felled beast.
"Hm," Akan muttered, gaze flicking briefly toward the Emperor's pale face.
"Like mother, like son."
Xiwen shot him a sharp glare, irritation flaring despite his exhaustion. A moment later, the tension drained from his expression, and he turned away, unwilling to pursue the rebuke further. Akan said nothing more, merely drew another chair closer and sat opposite him.
"I refuse to sit beside you," Akan said lightly. "If I did, it would look as though we were mourning."
"I was unaware such a rule existed," Xiwen replied dryly.
"It is unwritten."
"…"
Akan studied him more closely now. "Why did you not tell me?" His eyes narrowed. "Since when has this been happening?"
If not for the pigeon Xiwen had sent, asking for a delay without explanation, Akan would have had no choice but to obey blindly. The omission unsettled him more than the message itself.
Xiwen rubbed at his temples. "At first, I believed it to be an accident. I did not think it would occur again." He paused, then allowed himself a faint, tired smile. "And besides, who could I trust with such a matter, if not the two of you? Archduke Froiz included."
"He was not like this on the battlefield," Akan said quietly. He was certain of it.
Guren had been ruthless, yes, but controlled. Calculated. "Is this a delayed consequence of the wars?"
"It began after he returned."
Akan stiffened. "What do you mean, after he returned?"
Xiwen lifted his eyes. "Do you remember that incident?"
Silence answered him.
Of course Akan remembered. The image rose unbidden, vivid and unrelenting.
They had called it the Welcome Greeting.
Three months after the Emperor's triumphant return, Guren had summoned hundreds of families and thousands of citizens to the city's heart. The preparations had been vast. A towering platform erected at the center of the square. Tables stretched so far they rivaled the length of a hundred carriages aligned end to end, laden with food and drink as though for a festival.
It had felt less like a homecoming and more like a battlefield revived.
That day had been ripe for revenge. Countless people still mourned those lost to war, to purges, to imperial decrees. Opposition stirred openly. Rebellion loomed like a breath held too long.
If not for the Empress Dowager's careful schemes, and the Emperor's merciless display of power, Adiand might have been cleaved in half.
Thousands were purged before the sun set.
"It began then," Xiwen said softly.
"He did not faint that day," Akan countered.
"Which is why I believed it coincidence," Xiwen replied. "His behavior afterward was… different, but not alarming enough."
They fell silent once more, each lost to memory.
It was a relief, at least, that this episode had occurred within the palace walls. Had Guren gone into a frenzy outside, even Xiwen doubted he could have prevented a catastrophe that would stain the Empire beyond repair.
"Can it be cured?" Akan asked at last.
Xiwen shook his head. "No. The Imperial Physician believes it stems from prolonged exposure to the battlefield. A trauma that will persist for life." His gaze flicked briefly toward the Emperor. "What His Majesty requires now is absolute rest. It may also be the result of being confined to his office for too many consecutive days."
"Then we must divide the work between us," Akan said. "Both of us."
Xiwen nodded, though hesitation crept into his expression, as if a thought troubled him.
"I know what you wish to say," Akan continued evenly.
Your deeper concerns, are they not?
"Then…" Xiwen began.
"Do not," Akan interrupted at once. His tone allowed no argument. "You summoned me. You delayed our arrival. You understand the situation better than I do."
"Still…"
"You only seek reassurance," Akan said. "A decision made by another, so you may bear it more easily."
Xiwen did not deny it.
The Emperor's well-being outweighed his own life. That truth had guided him for decades.
"You believe the Empress Dowager would care if informed?" Akan asked.
Xiwen said nothing.
"The royal bloodline of Adiand has never been gentle with its own," Akan continued. "Do not compare this reign to that of the Seventh Emperor. He was not of pure blood. Was his rule not ended when the Empress installed his brother instead?"
Xiwen could not refute him.
After that Empress seized power through the pureblood brother, she had slain her own son with her own hands. She herself had been second cousin to the Adiand ruler, her blood nearer to the ancient line than that of the Seventh Emperor.
Those years were remembered as both the best and worst in Adiand's history.
Best, because that Emperor had not ruled with the same cold tyranny as his predecessors. The land had softened, briefly. Smiles had appeared where fear once ruled.
Worst, because it ended. When the pureblood reclaimed the throne, hope died swiftly. The people returned to darkness, their spirits crushed beneath the familiar weight of absolute rule.
Even now, those who had remained and integrated into the Empire were accustomed to it. Foreigners who had settled over generations sometimes whispered of cruelty, of minds bent into obedience.
Yet the Adiand people themselves had endured.
When the Welcome Greeting occurred, it was they who remained unmoved. As though bloodshed were simply part of the landscape.
"Furthermore," Akan said, rising from his chair. He approached the window and opened it slightly. Cool air drifted in, stirring the heavy curtains. "Let us step outside."
He turned back. "Butler, you must rest. You cannot serve him in this state. Have you forgotten what you once told me?"
Xiwen's lips twitched as he smoothed the sheets upon Guren's bed. "Adiand royalty only values one's usefulness."
Akan smiled faintly. "An excellent answer."
They left the chamber together.
Only then did Guren stir.
His eyes opened slowly, the red haze absent now, replaced by a sharp, lucid gaze.
"They are too loud," he muttered.
Both men spoke too freely, yet he tolerated it. They were still too valuable to discard.
A breeze brushed against his face. Guren stared out the window for a long while, unmoving.
The chamber no longer felt stifling.
It was simply quiet.
Too quiet.
***
"Rendezvous time. Check."
Ett pulled the concealed lever, and the panel slid aside with a muted sound, revealing the narrow passage beyond. She slipped into the secret path without hesitation.
Night had already deepened. No one would enter her chambers at this hour. Akan had even stationed a knight outside her door and another beneath the balcony, both assigned rotating shifts.
Does he truly believe that is enough?
She drew her hood low, cloaking herself in the appearance of a ragged child. Taverns flourished at night, and children like her wandered freely enough to escape notice.
Patrols passed now and then, but their attention was lax.
As she moved through the streets, she passed a beggar child pleading at a doorway. The house owner drove him off with sharp words, while the guards merely watched.
Understanding flickered across her eyes.
"So that is how it is."
You may beg, but you may not steal.
She had heard such words often during her academy days, whispered in gossip. Begging was tolerated. Theft was death.
"Hm."
Her fingers brushed the purse concealed beneath her clothes.
Well. I am no saint.
The House of Isolet soon came into view. She entered without pause. The familiar man greeted her at once.
"You are punctual."
"As I should be, if I know my customer," Mazi replied, beaming.
"The master has been awaiting you."
"Mm."
He knocked upon the door, three slow knocks, followed by two quick ones.
Only then did Ett realize it was a signal.
"Enter."
"I shall leave you to it, My Lady."
"Yes. I know how to leave when we are done."
"Excellent. I wish you a fruitful time."
Fruitful. An interesting choice.
The door closed behind him.
"Ah," came the smooth voice within. "If it is not my beloved customer's beloved servant."
"I apologize," Ett replied coolly. "Our method of delivering the message lacked clarity."
Cashim laughed lightly, waving the matter aside. "No need. Come, sit, my dear customer."
She suppressed a shudder.
What is wrong with this man?
"Tell me what you have learned," she said instead.
"Which part would you like first?"
"The most important."
Cashim grinned broadly. "As expected."
He retrieved a manuscript from beneath the table and slid it toward her. She opened it, scanning the contents.
"I see," she murmured. "Even this sort of matter… your mistress entrusts you."
She paused.
Of course. How could she forget? Most masters would never allow such freedom. Trust, even here, came with chains.
"It is my honor," Cashim said solemnly.
She nearly laughed.
"Then there is more," he continued.
"Why was it not written?"
"It would spoil the enjoyment."
"…Indeed."
He cleared his throat. "There were no sightings matching your description near the western border or the outskirts of Jushen's Empire. However, one of my men encountered someone in the neighboring valley of Oran."
"And?"
"A child."
Ett pursed her lips.
"A child?"