The sky above the capital was heavy with clouds—thick, unmoving, suffocating. Inside the Imperial Infirmary, the air was even heavier. The walls glowed faintly with healing sigils, but the atmosphere remained cold, tense, and bleak.
Kael lay on the central bed, his body trembling under layers of blankets. His breath was uneven. His lips pale. His skin burning with fever that refused to subside even after five days. Jaesper and his assistants moved tirelessly around him, applying cooling spells, mixing herbs, and chanting healing incantations.
Jaesper wiped the sweat from his brow, eyes narrowing at the half-finished potion bubbling on the table.
"This poison… isn't from this world," he muttered. "It's ancient. Corrupted. It fights back."
One assistant flinched as Kael jerked violently in his sleep, coughing up specks of dark red.
"We've never seen anything like it, My Lord."
Jaesper's jaw tightened.
"I know."
-----------------------------------------
Elsewhere in the palace, the tension was equally suffocating.
Reinhardt walked down the hallway like a storm contained in human skin. His eyes were bloodshot. He had not slept. Not truly. His sleeves were rolled, still stained with dried brownish red—Kael's blood. Every time he blinked, he saw Kael collapsed on the floor, blood dripping from his lips, whispering—
Save him.
Teodore kept up beside him, grim and unusually quiet.
"Your Majesty," he began, "the nobles are restless. You've locked down the palace for five days. People are beginning to—"
"Let them whine," Reinhardt hissed. "If they want to leave, they can walk over my corpse."
Teodore shut his mouth. Elric, watching from a distance, felt a sharp ache in her chest. Reinhardt's mask was cracking. The Emperor—who once never faltered—looked lost.
And the rest of the palace felt it.
-----------------------------------------
In the quiet chamber far from the chaos, a weak gasp echoed.
Robert opened his eyes.
He blinked several times, breath shallow. The ceiling looked unfamiliar for a moment until a soft voice anchored him:
"Robert?"
He turned. Iris sat beside him, worry etched on her face. She had been wiping his sweat, her eyes rimmed with tiredness.
"You're awake," she breathed. "Thank goodness."
Robert swallowed. His throat felt sore. His gaze darted around the room.
"…Where is Master Kael?" His voice trembled.
Iris lowered her eyes.
"Kael is still in critical condition. Viscount Jaesper hasn't left his side."
Robert shut his eyes briefly. The memories hit him like a sharp blade—Kael trembling beside him, healing him despite the pain, despite the poison eating him alive.
"…We were… poisoned?" Robert whispered.
Iris hesitated, then nodded.
"It was a relief you only drank a little. And Kael's healing spell prevented the poison from reaching your heart immediately." Her voice softened. "But still… the poison made your heart weaker. Much weaker."
Robert's hand rose instinctively to his chest. He could feel the dull pulse beneath his palm—unsteady, fragile.
"How long…?" he asked quietly.
Iris bit her lip. She turned her face away.
"…Three years. That's the longest the scholars estimate." Her voice cracked. "Your heart wasn't strong to begin with… and the poison…"
Robert didn't react at first. Then a small exhale escaped him, trembling.
"…I see."
A secret he never revealed to Kael. A truth he never wanted him to know—that his life had always been ticking, fragile, limited.
"…His Majesty," Robert forced out, "how is he?"
Iris looked at him again. This time, her expression was conflicted.
"He's… unraveling. He locked down the palace. No one is allowed in or out. Every night he interrogates nobles or servants. He hasn't slept. He keeps saying 'I won't lose him again.'"
Robert clenched his fingers.
Brother… you can't collapse now. Not while Kael—
He forced his weak body upright.
"Robert!" Iris grabbed his arm. "You can't get up—your heart—"
"I need to see Master Kael," Robert breathed. "And His Majesty. This… is all my fault. If I noticed sooner… if I had protected him, then this—"
His legs wobbled. He nearly fell, but Iris caught him with both arms.
"You can't move like this," she said sternly. "You could trigger another attack."
Robert shook his head weakly.
"No… don't call His Majesty. He'll come running if he hears I'm awake. And if the nobles see him worry about me, they'll use me against him. Our plan—everything—will fall apart."
Robert clutched his chest, breath uneven.
"Iris… I'm begging you. Not now."
Iris sighed, defeated. She knelt in front of him, placing her hands firmly on his shoulders.
"Fine. I'll tell Reinhardt in secret. But you stay here." Her voice softened. "Robert… if you collapse now, Kael will suffer even more. Please… don't push yourself."
Robert lowered his head.
"…Alright."
But his trembling fingers said otherwise.
He wanted—needed—to reach Kael.
Even if his heart broke piece by piece.
-----------------------------------------
The hallway outside the Emperor's office was silent—too silent. Iris could feel the tension crawling along the marble walls like a living thing. The guards had been dismissed for hours. Servants avoided this wing entirely.
He's falling apart again, she thought.
Without waiting for permission, she pushed the heavy door open.
Reinhardt didn't move.
He sat behind his desk, elbows planted on piles of reports, his face buried in his hands. His hair—normally immaculate—hung messily across his forehead. The light from the window illuminated the dark shadows under his eyes.
He didn't even glance up when she entered. He didn't need to. He knew her footsteps.
"You look a mess," Iris commented flatly, dropping all courtesy.
His voice emerged low, cracked.
"What's your intention coming here?"
Iris made a slow circle around his office, checking corners. No movement. No hidden ears. With a flick of her fingers, she raised a barrier—deep blue sigils circling the room like floating petals. A privacy dome.
Then she faced him.
"Robert woke up," she said.
Reinhardt's fingers twitched—barely, but Iris caught it.
"He was trying to get up," she continued. "Searching for you. I stopped him."
Still, he didn't lift his face. Iris stepped closer.
"And Kael's fever still isn't going down. Jaesper said the poison is evolving—like it's alive." Her voice sharpened. "Your friend is burning alive on that bed. Your brother nearly died. And you're hiding here?"
Reinhardt finally lowered his hands.
His expression was cold, composed—but his eyes were not. They were exhausted. Chaotic. Frantic beneath the surface.
"I already heard," he muttered. "About Robert's condition."
Then the mask came down, smooth and emotionless.
"If he wants to attend Kael, let him. He has… limited years left." He leaned back in his chair, looking toward the window. "I won't deny him that."
Anyone else would have screamed or cried hearing those words.
But Iris only narrowed her eyes.
"That," she said sharply, "is exactly what I want you to tell him yourself. Not hide behind your throne."
Reinhardt finally looked at her—eyes glinting with irritation.
Iris only stepped closer, hands on the edge of his desk.
"But I hate seeing you like this," she continued mercilessly. "Pathetic."
Reinhardt stiffened.
"Kael will never get better if you fall apart like this. What will he think if he wakes and sees the emperor—the friend he trusts—lost his sanity?" Her voice grew colder. "You are the Emperor now, Reinhardt. Not that hopeless prince who used to hide behind Kael's shadow."
Silence.
A long, suffocating silence.
Reinhardt swallowed hard. His jaw flexed, the tendons in his neck tightening. He didn't argue. Couldn't. Iris was the only person alive who could talk to him like this—and walk away unharmed.
She had stood beside him during the slaughter of the royal family. She had seen him cry. She had seen him break. She knew him to his core. And he trusted her more than he trusted himself.
Iris exhaled and softened slightly.
"Now get a grip," she said, tapping the stack of reports on his table. "We need your brain working, not drowning."
Reinhardt reached for the top report. Teodore's investigation. He skimmed the page once, twice—then froze.
His eyes widened, sharp as a blade unsheathed.
"...There was no trace of poison," he whispered.
Iris nodded. "I checked the chamber myself. No residue. No smell. Nothing. It vanished. Just like—"
Reinhardt finished her sentence.
"—the dagger that stabbed Kael in Delcra."
Their eyes met.
A slow, chilling realization dawned.
"If the poison disappears on its own…" Iris murmured.
"It wasn't made by humans," Reinhardt concluded, rising from his seat with a jolt.
He grabbed another stack—battlefield reports, cultist sightings, unusual mana traces.
His breath quickened.
"This poison—this method—it's the same as theirs."
He slammed the papers onto the desk.
"Demon Cult." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "There is Demon Cult inside this palace."
Iris smiled—slow, sharp, triumphant.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
Reinhardt's eyes burned with a new fire—rage and clarity mixing into something lethal.
"Then we find them," he growled.
"Every last one."
The Emperor was no longer broken.
He was hunting.
-----------------------------------------
The lanterns in Kael's infirmary room flickered dimly, casting long shadows across the stone walls. The night outside was silent, but the room throbbed with tension, fear, and the faint scent of medicinal herbs.
Elric sat curled in the corner, her back pressed against the cold pillar.
In her trembling hands—a small velvet box. Inside, the ring she secretly commissioned. A gift meant for Kael after he completed the ceremony. Their promise. Their future.
Now…
She clutched it tighter, praying he would live long enough to receive it.
From the adjoining chamber came fevered murmurs and frantic footsteps. Kael hadn't opened his eyes in two days. His fever kept rising, and every few hours he coughed blood into the cloth Jaesper changed over and over.
"Please…" Elric whispered, her voice breaking. "Please wake up…"
She could hear his weak groans even through the partition. Every sound stabbed into her chest.
Suddenly—
The door burst open.
Everyone froze.
Reinhardt stood in the doorway, his cloak thrown aside, hair disheveled, breath harsh—his entire aura radiating sharp, dangerous fury and desperate determination.
But his eyes…
They no longer held despair.
They burned with certainty.
"Elric. Jaesper. Move."
They all stared at him, stunned at his sudden shift.
Reinhardt stepped toward Kael's bed, his voice low but unwavering:
"Bring me the dagger from Vaelthorn. The cursed one I sent for research."
He turned his head slightly. "Hurry."
Jaesper's pupils shrank.
"That dagger… Your Majesty, what do you intend—"
"Bring it," Reinhardt repeated, sharper. "I know how to save him."
Even Elric blinked in shock.
"You… know?" Her tone trembled between hope and suspicion. "Jaesper said even cursed alchemy didn't work. How—"
Reinhardt didn't look at her; his gaze was locked on Kael's pale, blood-stained face.
"There's an answer we all overlooked," he said softly.
"Kael and that dagger… share the same curse."
Jaesper didn't waste another second. He ran.
Elric stepped closer to the Emperor.
"Reinhardt—if you're wrong—"
"I'm not," he cut her off, voice firm. "I won't let him die again."
A few minutes later, Jaesper returned, carrying a thickly wrapped bundle.
Even wrapped, the dagger emitted a chilling aura—like shadows clinging to steel.
Reinhardt unwrapped it.
A gust of cold air swept the room.
The blade was still pitch-black, veins of shadow pulsing like something alive.
Elric swallowed hard. "Your Majesty… what are you planning to do with that?"
Jaesper looked nervous for the first time in years.
"Please explain before you harm him further—"
"Watch," Reinhardt said.
He lowered himself beside Kael's motionless body, kneeling on one knee.
Gently—too gently for a man known for brutality—he took Kael's hand.
His breath hitched.
Kael's skin was icy, almost translucent.
His lips were pale. Blood had dried on his mouth, cheeks, neck—a map of suffering.
Reinhardt's voice cracked.
"I'm sorry, Kael… But please trust me."
He lifted the dagger.
Elric's breath stopped.
Jaesper held his breath.
Reinhardt's hand trembled…but he pressed the blade to Kael's wrist.
A thin slice.
Kael flinched—a fragile groan escaping his lips.
Blood flowed down Reinhardt's fingers.
He quickly angled the dagger so the droplets coated the blade.
"Please," he murmured. "Please let this be right…"
The moment Kael's blood touched the blade—
The dagger pulsed.
A black light erupted from Kael's wrist, swirling like smoke and pouring into the blade.
The dark aura in Kael's veins surged, gathering, twisting, and being sucked out as though ripped by an unseen force.
The entire room gasped.
Elric covered her mouth.
Jaesper stepped back, speechless.
Every shadow in Kael's body—the poison, the curse, the corruption—drained into the blade, devoured by it like a starving beast.
The dagger shuddered—
Then its darkness evaporated.
The pitch-black blade turned silver.
Completely normal. Lifeless. Harmless.
Reinhardt exhaled shakily, relief flooding his expression.
He cupped Kael's cheek with his free hand.
Color—faint but undeniable—returned to Kael's skin.
His breathing steadied.
His fever dropped like melting frost.
"Kael…" Reinhardt whispered. "You're alright… You're coming back…"
He turned to Jaesper, sharp and commanding again:
"Replace his blood immediately."
He threw the now-cleansed dagger to the floor.
"And throw that thing away. It's done its job."
Jaesper snapped out of shock.
"At once, Your Majesty!"
Reinhardt remained beside Kael, still holding his hand tightly, refusing to let go.
Elric stepped closer. Tears welled in her eyes—not of fear this time, but of overwhelming relief.
Kael lived.
Kael survived.
And for the first time since the poisoning—
Hope returned to the room.