"I'm so glad you made it home, Princess," old Tai sighed, relief spilling from his lips. "What would I have told your mother if something had happened to you? Your absence was felt by everyone—especially the young Prince. He hasn't left his chambers since you disappeared. I wonder if the young miss would kindly accompany me to see him."
Old Tai had been worried ever since Princess Reloua vanished. He worried even more for the young prince, who was always glued to his sister like gum. He barely ate, rarely came out, and had covered all the grand windows of his room with blankets. No one knew what was going on inside.
Her brother's condition made Reloua's pace quicken as she moved through the long marble corridors, her heart thumping with concern. Behind her, like a quiet shadow, Teleu followed noiselessly.
After some time, they reached a small private garden. At its far end stood a modest yet elegant house—a tranquil little palace where the young prince lived.
In the royal palace, every prince, princess, and minister possessed such a private garden, ranging from modest to luxurious depending on their rank and taste. It was meant to give them peace and privacy.
As they walked in, Teleu's sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, memorizing every detail—the trees, the paths, the layout of the house.
Together, Reloua, Teleu, and old Tai moved swiftly toward the Prince's palace door.
"Gyan, it's me—Reloua. Open the door! I'm back!"
Knock! Knock!
No reply.
"Gyan! Gyan! Open up and come greet me!"
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Still, nothing.
Reloua's expression darkened as worry etched itself deeper across her face. Old Tai had said the prince hadn't come out in days, but hearing it and seeing it were two different things.
When she first heard about her brother isolating himself, she hadn't panicked. After all, she knew Gyan better than anyone. People saw him as merely an eleven-year-old boy—but she knew better. He was composed, brilliant, realistic—a true prodigy.
But she had forgotten one simple truth: no matter how gifted, Gyan was still just a child.
A child who had lost his mother and learned that his sister had vanished.
How else could such pain manifest, if not through silence?
Realization struck her hard. Her heart pounded as dreadful thoughts raced through her mind. Was he ill? Was he starving? Or worse… was he even alive?
"Old Tai," she turned sharply, her voice trembling, "when was the last time you heard any sound from his room?"
Old Tai's face paled. "F–four days ago, my lady. We last heard movement four days ago."
"Four days?" Reloua's tone hardened, her gaze piercing him. "And you didn't think something might have happened? Could you not have ordered the door broken down?"
Her voice cracked with anger and fear. Reloua respected Old Tai deeply, but this was her brother—her only family left. The thought of losing him too twisted her heart.
Old Tai lowered his head, guilt washing over him. He had failed his duty. All he could do was stand there, helplessly watching as the Princess pounded on the door again and again, shouting her brother's name.
Teleu, standing to the side, remained calm and silent, though his eyes softened. Poor old man, he thought.
An incense stick's time passed. Still no answer.
Reloua leaned against the wall, exhausted, her throat dry from screaming. Her eyes burned red with restrained tears. She couldn't cry—not yet. She had to stay strong. If her brother came out, he needed to see her as his pillar, not his broken sister.
"Old Tai," she said finally, voice low but firm, "bring some workers. Have them break down this door."
"Yes, my lady," Tai bowed, his voice shaking. He knew this could be disastrous—if anything had happened to the prince, his head would roll.
He turned to leave, but before he could take a step, a hand rested gently on his shoulder.
"No need," Teleu said quietly.
Old Tai frowned. "And what do you think you're doing?" His gratitude toward Teleu for saving the Princess didn't mean the boy could do as he pleased. "You can't just—"
"Speak, Teleu," Reloua interrupted. "What do you mean by 'no need'?"
Teleu pointed calmly at the heavy door. "I can open it."
Reloua and Tai stared at him in disbelief. The door was colossal—solid hardwood reinforced with bronze. No ordinary man could open it by force.
Yet Reloua didn't stop him. After traveling with Teleu for three weeks, she'd learned he wasn't one to speak nonsense. If he said he could do something, there was always a reason behind it.
Teleu turned to Tai again. "Please fetch some food. If we manage to open the door, the young prince might need something to eat."
Old Tai hesitated, looking to Reloua for guidance. She gave him a small nod.
"Yes, my lady." Tai bowed and hurried off.
As he disappeared through the garden arch, Reloua turned to Teleu, her voice cautious. "Why did you send him away? Do you suspect him?"
Teleu unsheathed a small dagger from his pocket and ran his thumb along the blade. "No. If anything, he's loyal. But no one else should enter that room—not yet. If he brought guards, too many eyes would see what's inside. And where there are many eyes… there are always traitors."
Reloua frowned. "And what do you expect to find inside that needs such secrecy?"
A faint smile crossed his lips. "I don't know. But if I'm not wrong… we're about to see something very interesting."
He slid the dagger between the door's twin locks and began to work, moving the blade up and down, left and right, precise and patient.
"Do you think my brother is alright?" Reloua asked softly, desperation lacing her tone.
"He should be," Teleu replied, his voice calm, though not without empathy.
Click. Clack.
The lock yielded. The door creaked open, and a rush of sunlight poured into the dim hallway beyond, revealing narrow corridors leading deeper inside.
"After you, my lady," Teleu said with a slight bow.
Reloua hurried past him, her heart hammering. Teleu stepped in after her, closing the door behind them.
At the end of the corridor stood another door—smaller, carved with golden markings. Gyan's room. The place where he spent countless hours reading and writing.
Reloua's trembling hand reached for the handle. She pushed it open.
What she saw melted the tension in her chest.
There he was—her little brother—lying on his bed, breathing softly. His slender frame looked fragile, almost weightless under the sheets. Scattered across the floor beside him were dozens of papers, filled with messy handwriting and sketches.
Aside from the chaos of his desk, everything else was perfectly ordered.
Reloua exhaled deeply, her shoulders relaxing. "Thank the heavens…" she whispered.
Her brother was safe.
She turned to Teleu, who had quietly stepped forward and picked up one of the papers beside the prince's bed. His eyes scanned it with interest.
"Interesting…" he murmured.
Reloua looked at him curiously, the weight of worry slowly lifting from her heart—yet a new question quietly formed in her mind.
What had her brother been writing all this time?