Reymund was not an insane man. He knew his limits—killing his own father had never been one of them. Yet before returning home, he'd had a conversation with a friend that would shatter those limits forever.
Cecilus had been probing him for days, trying to uncover the real reason Reymund was sent off to war. Eventually, he found his way to the truth.
"So, what's the actual reason a royal like you ended up out here?" Cecilus asked, idly spinning a pebble between his fingers.
"I already told you—it was my father."
Cecilus gave a short laugh. "No father would send his kid to the front lines. Not if he knows how strong his kid is. No offense."
"None taken." Reymund hesitated. "I think he thought it would 'toughen me up' at first. But now… it's probably easier to keep me away from the family."
"Huh? Why's that? Assuming the worst of your family isn't good for your health, you know."
Reymund's eyes darkened. "I'm fairly certain my father killed my mother. I have… ways of knowing how she died, and his story didn't match. He remarried right after—and then made sure I stayed far away."
"Oh." Cecilus stopped twirling the pebble. "Then I retract my statement. Your father sounds like an asshole."
Reymund gave a humorless chuckle. "Yeah… he really is."
"So, what are you going to do about it?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, surely you're not going to let that bastard live after killing your mother? Why not report it to the royal family?"
"My mother's side of the family is dead or indifferent. My father's strong—too strong. There isn't much I can do."
Cecilus's lips curled into a grin. "Lucky for you, you've got your good old friend Cecilus here to help you teach him a lesson."
When Reymund returned home for the first time in years, Cecilus was already waiting.
They staged the plan under the cover of night. After greeting his brother and pretending to leave, Reymund doubled back, meeting Cecilus by the manor's outer wall. They wore dark cloaks with hoods drawn low, faces hidden. Cecilus's magic dampened their presence; Reymund didn't ask how.
They scaled a window, slipping past the guards like shadows. Inside, moonlight cut across the grand bedroom in silver streaks. Hernais lay asleep beside a woman.
Cecilus moved without hesitation. He pressed his hand through the man's chest—silently, impossibly—and withdrew it, clutching a heart that pulsed crimson in the dark. Then it began to glow, humming faintly, before vanishing with a soft poof.
Cecilus stumbled back, trembling. His eyes were wide with shock.
"Your father," he whispered, "was the one who killed your mother."
"What? Himself?" Reymund froze mid-step.
As they escaped through the window, Cecilus spoke rapidly, his voice low but urgent.
"He killed her because she found something out. She discovered that the royal council is working with the demons."
Reymund nearly tripped. The council? Working with demons?
"They're working with them to stop the Convergence," Cecilus continued.
"What's that?"
"The king plans to unite the elven kingdom and our own. That's the Convergence."
"Really? Then is that why the army hasn't targeted some of the elven camps? But why keep it secret?"
"Because most of the council—and half the royal bloodlines—hate the idea. The nobles and rich families would cut off their funding if they knew. The king's balancing on a blade's edge."
Reymund's mind raced. "How do you know all this?"
Cecilus glanced at him. "I took your father's memories. It's… an ability I have."
"So that's why his heart disappeared."
"Yes."
They stopped to circle around a patrolling guard, Cecilus's magic swallowing their footsteps and words in silence.
"This is big," Reymund whispered. "The council is betraying the king?"
Cecilus nodded. "Your father was close with them. That's why he silenced your mother—she learned too much."
"But why would she care so much? Did she… did she support the king's idea?"
"Your mother was fond of the elves," Cecilus said softly.
Reymund stopped walking. His pulse quickened.
Mother cared about the elves… then maybe she would've wanted the Convergence, too.
Cecilus turned to him. "So, Reymund. What are you going to do with this information?"
"I don't know," Reymund said, shaking his head. "Exposing this would be suicide, wouldn't it?"
"Maybe."
They reached the edge of the estate grounds, the night wind cold against their faces.
"Cecilus," Reymund asked suddenly, "do you care about the elves?"
He'd seen Cecilus cut them down in war without mercy. He expected the usual indifference.
"Yes," Cecilus said. "I care about them as much as I do humans. The Convergence could end centuries of bloodshed."
"Oh…" Reymund hesitated. "Then what will you do about it?"
Cecilus extended his hand. "I'm going to help the king make it happen. You're a royal—you've got connections. Will you stand with me against the council?"
Reymund stared at the offered hand. His pulse hammered. I can't. I'm not strong enough.
He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Cecilus. My barrier magic won't protect anyone when it really matters."
Cecilus's hand lowered slowly. His disappointment was quiet, but heavy.
They parted ways without incident. No one ever discovered Hernais's death was by their hands.
Cecilus's term ended soon after, and he returned home. Before leaving, he clasped Reymund's shoulder.
"Goodbye, Reymund."
"Don't sound so grim. This goodbye's only for a while, right? You'll visit?"
Cecilus didn't respond.
"I hope you find what you're truly looking for," he said instead.
Reymund never understood those words—until it was too late.
***
A year later, a letter arrived. The royal seal was pressed in red wax. Reymund's hands trembled as he opened it.
Cecilus Blaive—executed for treason. Tortured for classified knowledge. No confession. No other names. Only one person listed as his next of kin: Reymund Ascension.
Reymund read the lines again and again. His breath hitched. Tears blurred the ink.
"Damn you, Cecilus," he choked, slamming his fist against the desk. "You idiot… I didn't want this!"
I just wanted peace. But I'm rotting away in war instead.
Is this what I truly want?
He wiped his face, anger burning through the grief. "I'll finish what you started. Don't worry, friend."
He crumpled the letter and tossed it aside.
***
Months later, two knights came to see him—men wearing the crest of the council.
"Sir Reymund?" one asked, his tone too polite.
"Yes," Reymund replied, his voice steady though rage coiled beneath it.
"We only need to ask a few questions regarding your late friend, Cecilus Blaive," the knight said. "Did he tell you anything… unusual before his arrest?"
"No, sir," Reymund said calmly.
"Good." The knight smiled thinly. "You were the only one he ever called a friend. If any trace of the information he stole were to… surface, well—let's just say we wouldn't want it traced back to you, would we? This information, when spread out to others, alerts us and the council. That is why Cecilus was arrested; we found traces of the knowledge being shared in him."
He leaned in, his voice low and venomous. "I hope we don't meet again, Reymund Ascension."
Reymund forced a tight smile. "Likewise."
He turned away, trembling. I've never been so afraid in my life.
But fear didn't stop him. He decided that when his military term ended, he'd tell the royal family everything—even if it cost his life.
Before he could, however, the world changed.
The Convergence was announced by King Afner himself—openly, defiantly.
Then… is there even a point to me continuing?
The thought echoed through his mind until the end of his service, and by the time it came, he had given up. He kept fighting. Kept serving.
Years passed. Wars blurred together. Eventually, his unit met its greatest battle. Both sides were nearly annihilated before the elves surrendered, choosing unity over extinction.
Even among knights, Reymund had always been considered weak—but compared to ordinary soldiers, his strength was remarkable. His barrier magic had saved his life countless times when others fell.
Now, he trudged through the aftermath of a ruined battlefield with one surviving comrade, scouting the remains of a nearby elven village. Smoke still curled from the blackened earth. Charred timbers jutted from collapsed homes. The air was thick with ash and death.
Then they saw her—a lone figure standing amid the ruin. Elven corpses hung from doorframes, scattered across scorched ground. The village was almost flat.
As they drew closer, the figure became clear.
It was a female elf.