Elric's steps echoed down the marble corridor—quick, tense, almost stumbling.
Iris's words wouldn't leave her mind.
Reinhardt has already begun investigating Kael's bloodline. Long ago. In secret.
If Reinhardt had done it while Kael was still in a coma…
What exactly did he find?
And why did he hide it?
Her heart pounded harder the closer she came to the Emperor's office. She raised her hand to knock—
But froze.
A voice slipped through the door.
Kael's voice.
Faint. Low. Uneven—but unmistakably him.
Elric's breath tangled.
She pushed the door open quietly.
Inside, Kael sat on the chair opposite Reinhardt's desk. His shoulders were straight, but the tips of his ears were burning red. When he turned—just slightly—and saw her at the door,
his entire face flushed crimson.
He jerked his gaze away immediately, looking anywhere but her.
Reinhardt sighed, not even attempting to hide his amusement.
"Well, good morning, Duke Elric," he greeted without looking up from the document he pretended to read.
Elric bowed politely despite the confusion swirling in her chest.
"Good morning, Your Majesty."
Reinhardt closed the document and leaned back on his chair.
"Look at this, Elric. This is the first time Kael has ever requested anything from me."
Kael stiffened, eyes widening slightly.
Elric stared at him, waiting.
After a long, shaky breath, Kael finally spoke.
"I… want to search for the families of the children from the orphanage I was in."
His voice was soft—but steady.
Elric's heart dropped.
Reinhardt leaned forward.
"You mean," Reinhardt said slowly, "the other Curse Children from Taylor Orphanage?"
Kael nodded, gripping his knees tightly.
"I saw them," he murmured. "Yesterday. In my dream. They were calling for their parents… crying. They used to stay with me. They died with me."
His voice trembled, but he did not look away.
"I want to find their families. And tell them that their children once existed."
The room fell silent.
Reinhardt's expression softened—genuinely, heavily.
He saw the Kael from the past.
The Hero everyone loved.
The boy who cried for others before himself.
Even Elric felt her eyes sting.
After a long pause, Reinhardt finally exhaled.
"Then let this be your first duty as the Archduke of Delcra."
Kael blinked in surprise.
Reinhardt continued, "But… you won't go alone. How about taking your fiancée with you?"
Elric's heart thumped loudly.
"You leave tomorrow," Reinhardt declared. "Both of you."
Kael slowly nodded.
Elric bowed.
Their faces—both bright red—never turned toward each other.
-----------------------------------------
They walked out of Reinhardt's office together.
Awkward. Silent.
Every step making them remember… last night.
Every time their hands brushed, they flinched like startled cats.
When the hall finally emptied—no guards, no servants—Elric slowed her steps.
Her voice small, soft.
"Kael…"
He stopped.
But didn't dare look at her.
Elric swallowed, then gently reached for his hand.
Kael jumped, face flaring red again, staring at her as if the air had suddenly vanished from the corridor.
"L-last night…" Elric whispered, eyes lowering, "I want to thank you, Kael."
Kael's lips parted slightly, breath catching.
He looked away, ears red to the tips.
Then Elric asked—barely audible—
"Are you… regretting it?"
Kael froze.
He slowly tightened his fingers around hers, lifting her hand with both of his shaking hands.
His voice trembled—but was certain.
"No."
He raised his eyes to hers.
"Never."
Elric's breath hitched.
Her heart bloomed—warm, soft, relieved.
She leaned in just an inch closer, eyes shining.
"Then… tomorrow," she whispered, "we start your first mission together."
Kael nodded, his expression softening even more.
"I'm glad… it's you."
Elric nearly melted on the spot.
They stood there, hand in hand, cheeks flushed, hearts pounding—
just two young souls caught between love, trauma, and the past they were about to face.
Together.
-----------------------------------------
Morning light seeped softly through the infirmary windows, warming Robert's pale cheeks as Jaesper finished his check-up. The physician's fingers were cold against Robert's wrist, measuring his pulse.
"You're doing fine. Better than expected," Jaesper finally said, though his expression remained grim. "But don't move too much, and don't do anything heavy."
Robert immediately perked up.
"Then… Can I continue serving Master Kael?"
He tried to sound casual, but the longing in his voice was undeniable.
Jaesper pressed his lips together in annoyance.
"Your heart is not like before," Jaesper reminded him. "It was weak even before the poison. And your remaining—"
He cut himself off, realizing he shouldn't mention Robert's time limit again.
Robert placed a hand over his chest, feeling the dull ache still pulsing under his ribs.
But instead of looking defeated, he smiled.
"It's fine," he whispered. "I've always been fine… despite knowing how long I have left. I won't abandon my duty because of this."
Jaesper stared at him, bothered by his stubborn loyalty.
"Is there any medicine—potion—anything to strengthen me?" Robert asked suddenly. "If I can, I want to recover quickly."
Jaesper shook his head.
"There is, but it's not for you, my Lord. Your heart is too damaged. Strengthening potions won't help. You need time."
Robert's smile dimmed—but before Jaesper could soften his words, a knock came from the door.
Both turned toward it.
And their eyes widened.
Kael stood there, holding a tray.
Robert straightened with surprise and joy.
"Good morning, Master," he greeted with an unhidden smile.
Jaesper bowed to Kael and quietly left the room, giving them space.
Kael placed the tray on the side table.
Bread, sliced fruit, warm broth—simple but carefully chosen. Robert's eyes softened at the effort.
"You don't have to bring food yourself," Robert said gently. "The servants can do it."
Kael lowered his eyes, not answering.
Instead, he asked quietly, "Tomorrow we return to Delcra. Are you… feeling well?"
Robert's heart fluttered.
He nodded, smiling brightly.
"Then it means we will travel together," he said warmly.
Kael blinked.
He had thought Robert would remain in the palace to rest.
"Are you sure you're fit to travel?" Kael asked, concern filling his tone. "What if something happens on the way…?"
Robert laughed lightly, hiding the ache in his chest.
"Lord Jaesper just told me I'm improving," he lied softly. "And I can't let you travel without me."
He kept smiling, even though his heart throbbed painfully.
Kael studied him, worried still lingering—but before he could ask more, Robert noticed something else.
A faint bruise on Kael's neck.
Robert leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"Master Kael… why do you have bruises here?"
His tone shifted instantly—alert, worried.
"Don't tell me you started training again? You're still recovering!"
Kael jolted backward, face burning crimson.
He quickly covered his neck with his hand.
"I-it's nothing…" he stuttered, avoiding Robert's gaze.
Robert frowned.
He gently reached out, brushing Kael's fingers away despite Kael's attempt to hide.
His fingertips touched the skin of Kael's neck—warm, soft.
He muttered a healing spell, and slowly the marks faded into nothing.
"Please be careful next time," Robert sighed. "You don't need to push yourself so hard."
Kael looked down, relieved Robert hadn't assumed anything… inappropriate.
But Robert's eyes quickly caught something else.
"Ah—your ring."
He pointed at Kael's hand.
"That's from Lady Elric, right?"
Kael followed his gaze, staring at the black ring glinting on his finger.
He remembered Elric's hands trembling as she slid the ring onto him.
Her kiss on his chin.
Her warmth pressed to him.
His cheeks turned pink, and he gave a small nod.
Robert smiled brightly.
"It suits you perfectly. Lady Elric must have chosen it carefully. It matches your eyes."
Kael's breath steadied, but then he grew quiet.
"After this," he whispered, "I want to investigate something."
Robert blinked, puzzled.
Kael's hand slowly lowered to his lap.
His voice was small—but firm.
"I've been dreaming again," Kael murmured. "About… the time I was abused at the orphanage."
Robert's smile disappeared.
His heart tightened painfully—not from his illness, but from the sadness in Kael's tone.
"Master Kael…" he whispered.
Kael finally lifted his eyes.
"Robert… will you help me?"
His voice trembled.
"I want to find answers. About the children. About what happened. About… why we suffered like that."
Robert didn't hesitate.
"Always," he whispered. "I will help you with anything."
Kael's eyes softened—grateful, relieved.
The two sat together quietly, the morning sunlight filling the room, their shared pain and hope intertwining like invisible threads drawing them closer.
Tomorrow, they will return to Delcra.
And begin the search for the forgotten children who once suffered beside him.
-----------------------------------------
The chamber breathed darkness.
Its walls were nothing but black stone and damp despair, illuminated only by the trembling flames of candles mounted on hooks and thin iron chains that hung from the ceiling. Shadows stretched grotesquely, trembling with each flicker of light.
At the center, between shelves overflowing with ancient tomes and scrolls, sat Varyn.
Tonight, he had chosen the shape of a boy around fifteen—a teenager's frame, lanky but deceptively calm. His hair, black as ink, spilled over golden irises that gleamed like molten metal in the dark.
He turned a page with slow fascination, mouthing unfamiliar words as he continued teaching himself the language of this world.
Footsteps approached.
"My lord… we have brought your meal," one cultist said, bowing so deeply his forehead touched the floor.
Varyn finally lifted his gaze.
The "meal" stood between two cultists—a girl, thin as a twig, no older than thirteen or fourteen. Her dress was torn, her red eyes swollen from crying. Her small hands trembled over her slightly swollen belly, the unmistakable sign of pregnancy.
A Curse Child.
Varyn rose from the ground with unnatural grace.
His bare feet made no sound as he stepped toward her.
He leaned close, golden eyes burning with eerie delight.
"You have the same eyes as Kael."
He smiled, and for a heartbeat, the girl's fear froze her breath.
Then Varyn's hand shot forward.
Two fingers plunged into her sockets.
A wet, sickening pop filled the chamber as he tore her eyeballs out.
The girl's scream tore the air apart—raw, animal, soaked in terror.
Blood streamed violently down her cheeks as she collapsed to her knees, clutching at the ragged holes where her eyes once were.
Varyn lifted the eyeballs to his mouth.
He bit into them with a soft crunch, chewing slow and thoughtful.
Blood dripped down his chin.
"Mmm… eyes of Curse Children are so sweet. Much sweeter than ordinary humans," he murmured, licking a smear of crimson from his fingertips.
Behind him, the cultists trembled.
None dared look away.
The girl tried to curl into herself, one hand covering her ruined eyes, the other clutching her belly as if protecting her unborn child from the nightmare towering over her.
Varyn swallowed the last piece of her eyes and stood straighter.
His form shimmered—growing taller, stronger.
Flesh stretched, bones lengthened, until the teenage illusion sharpened into an older, more mature version of himself.
"The blood of a Curse Child gives me much strength…" he exhaled, pleased.
He turned back to the girl.
She flinched, sensing movement, fumbling backward blindly, her trembling fingers digging into the stone floor.
"So…" Varyn crouched before her, his shadow swallowing her whole.
"The child in your womb is not like you. Not cursed. What a waste."
His hand wrapped around her throat.
She whimpered, choking, desperately clawing at his fingers—but his grip was unbreakable.
"I always wanted to taste blood like my mother's," Varyn whispered, almost dreamily. "She was a Curse Child too. Her blood was… exquisite."
His smile widened, stretched too far to be human.
"Is yours less delicious because your child is normal?"
Before the girl could breathe or cry or plead—
Varyn drove his hand into her stomach.
The cultists flinched at the sound of tearing flesh.
Blood splattered his arm, warm and thick.
The girl's scream dissolved into wet gurgles as he pulled the infant from her womb by its leg, dangling it in the air as though it were no more than a discarded rag doll.
Without even glancing at the newborn, he tossed it aside.
Then he lowered his mouth to the girl's neck and bit.
Blood welled up instantly, pouring down both their bodies as he drank greedily.
The girl's weak hands shook, then fell.
Her tears mingled with the dark pool forming beneath her—until she went still.
Varyn released her body, letting it collapse next to the unmoving infant.
His tongue slid across his lips as he savored the last drops.
"As expected," he mused, straightening. "Your blood is delicious. But still not like my mother's."
One cultist finally found the courage to speak.
"How… how was the meal, Lord Dracul? We prepared her for over a year. She failed to carry the Blood of Darkness, but we thought it wasteful to—"
"Wasteful?"
Varyn's voice cracked like a blade on stone.
The air in the chamber thickened instantly. Every candle flame bent toward him as if pulled by gravity.
"You call what you do 'preparation,' but what you brought me are your garbage experiments," he hissed.
The cultists dropped to their knees in terror.
"My lord, we—we only thought that since you crave blood similar to your bearer's—"
Varyn didn't let him finish.
He grabbed the nearest cultist by the hair and yanked him upward.
The cultist screamed as his scalp tore.
"You took my blood a few days ago," Varyn snarled.
"You said it was for giving to the other Pillars."
He threw the cultist against the wall.
The impact cracked stone.
The man crumpled to the floor, coughing blood.
"But you used it… to poison Kael. Without my permission."
Varyn's fury twisted the entire room.
"What if his blood becomes polluted?" he screamed, voice shaking the candles. "What if you ruin him before I even taste him?!"
The cultists trembled so hard their teeth chattered.
"My lord—we only followed the orders of Lord Amdis—"
Varyn's golden eyes burned with murderous rage.
"This is why the other Pillars look down on me," he spat. "Because idiots like you make me look weak. Using low methods to claim the Blood of Eternity!"
He kicked the fallen cultist aside like trash.
Disgusted, he turned back to his books.
"And now I must learn this world's rules myself," he muttered, fingers brushing ancient pages. "I must understand how to speak… how to behave… how to befriend Kael."
His smile stretched—hungry, patient, terrifying.
"So that when the time comes…"
His eyes gleamed with longing soaked in madness.
"…I will claim him properly."