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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

???: [Who is the most beautiful person in this mansion? It's you, isn't it~ ~?]

???: [Hmmmm…]

Having uttered those words laden with affection and devotion towards his stepsister—who was now emotionally overwhelmed by a wave of passion and self-adoration—Subaru couldn't help but praise the beauty of that charming girl.

His trembling and eager hands frantically caressed every corner of her head, diligently running through the silky silver mane that fell like a river over her shoulders. They moved softly from the crown of her head to her dog ears, dyed a brilliant silver with subtle black spots.

Arakiya, being of canine race, felt the caresses differently from a human. Her skin, extremely sensitive to touch, reacted with shivers to every brush. And at that instant, under the hands of her "Moon," her body trembled, not from fear, but from deep joy. The love and loyalty she felt towards him enveloped her senses like a warm mist, and her whole world seemed to have shrunk to that perfect moment.

Arakiya: [I still don't understand… this enthusiasm for me. But… if the prince is happy… I am too.]

Every word that flowed from her mouth turned into a muffled gasp, as if each syllable weighed as much as a mountain. She couldn't help it: with her head resting on the left shoulder of one of the beings she valued most in the world, her mind slowly unraveled, completely surrendering to his words, as sweet as sugar.

They were currently in Subaru's room—Dravien—on a warm morning. The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting its golden light on the furniture and walls, giving the place an aura that screamed elegance. The atmosphere seemed tranquil, almost magical, as if time had stopped to preserve that instant. Anyone entering that room would think, at first glance, that it was just a child showing affection to a loved one. But that illusion would vanish as soon as their eyes noticed the inert corpse lying on the floor like a rag doll.

At first glance, it was hard to believe it was a corpse. Its entire body—from feet to head—was completely charred, to the point where it was impossible to even tell if it had fallen forward or backward. The body had no recognizable shape. And if there was still any doubt that it was a corpse, the putrid aroma emanating from it, mercilessly invading every corner of the room, dispelled any hesitation.

Arakiya: [Prince… we still need to collect… the corpse. Princess… will be angry with you if… she finds this.]

Subaru: [Nope, that's not important right now. What matters, as prince of the empire, is to reward your subordinates for their great work. And you, my dear Pokémon, you earned this! So just shut up and enjoy.]

Despite the stench, neither of them seemed to notice it. Perhaps they were too immersed in their private world, in that little bubble they had built between laughs, duties, and cruel games. Or perhaps… they had already grown accustomed to living with that smell of death.

Subaru: [Although this time I didn't have to use Return by Death to deal with this… the stress is still consuming me. A lot.]

Reflecting in silence, Subaru couldn't help but think about how far he had come since he reincarnated in that world. Extreme situations, pain, constant pressure… all of that had become part of his daily life. At one point, he had even almost developed the habit of harming himself in his sleep, just to stay sane.

But then, amidst the chaos, he thought of caressing Arakiya once, as a desperate attempt to clear his mind… and that changed everything. From that day on, his way of seeing things began to transform. It's true that he wanted to reward her for her work, yes, but that wasn't the main reason. Barely 30% of his motivation was to give her a deserved prize. The other 70% was pure emotional survival instinct. Caressing her became his method, his ritual, his escape. So, in a way, it could be said that Arakiya received her "reward" every day.

Arakiya: [Burp…]

…

…

Subaru: [You just… burped?]

Arakiya: [Excuse me? No… that was… Burp.]

Feeling the warm arms caressing her head, Arakiya let her guard down so much that, involuntarily, a small burp accidentally escaped her mouth.

…

Subaru: [You know what? You're right. Call the servants to clean up this mess.]

Arakiya: […Understood.]

Faced with the awkward moment—at least for Subaru—and without adding another word, Arakiya left the room as if burping in the middle of a conversation was the most normal thing in the world. Subaru, wanting to dispel the embarrassment that surrounded him like a thick fog, shifted his attention to the darkest corner of the room, where a charred corpse lay.

With slow, steady steps, he approached, stopping right in front of it. It wasn't the corpse that truly interested him, but the dagger still stuck in what, from the position of the remains, he assumed was the shoulder. He knelt cautiously, avoiding looking too much at the face deformed by fire, and pulled the weapon with a slight gesture of repulsion.

Although seeing dead bodies had become almost routine, he couldn't help but feel a weight in his chest: pity, perhaps… or guilt. It was easy to forget that those ashes were once someone.

Picking up the dagger with one hand, with the other he took out a pair of napkins he had kept in his pocket. He carefully used them to remove the remains still adhering to the blade. Once he saw it completely clean, he diligently put it away under the hem of his black coat sleeve, as if it were an automatic reflex, a habit learned more out of necessity than strategy.

It was a form of defense he had had to learn by himself from too young an age. Deceiving opponents, making them believe one is defenseless, and when they let their guard down enough, stabbing them in the back. He knew it was a cowardly way to get rid of his opponents… but it was also the fastest. The one that put an end to problems before they got out of control.

Subaru: [At least I want to believe that, in one of those attempts, someone will listen to me… and that we can understand each other.]

A naive thought, yes, but one he still clung to. He chose to believe. To believe that, someday, that desire to understand the reasons behind others' actions would become reality. That perhaps, amidst the noise, there would be a moment of silence where he could find meaning. Still, deep down he knew it was an almost impossible dream. In this new world, where the strong are revered and the weak despised, there was no place for such an idealistic view.

And knowing that, Subaru reacted like a child to problems—whether physical or emotional—shielding himself with his new appearance. He took advantage of having returned to a childhood that no longer belonged to him, behaving with a false innocence that served as a shield. He used that mask to hide his cracks, so that no one else could see the fragility he feared to show.

That plan, at first, worked well. Most didn't see beyond. But today… only a couple of people could see through the lie.

Prisca. His beautiful twin sister in this world. Although her mere presence screamed the word "arrogance" in capital letters, there was a secret warmth inside her. An affection reserved only for a few: for him, Arakiya, and for Vincent.

Speaking of Vincent, he was probably the second—and last—person who had managed to see the truth behind his facade. Their ideals couldn't be more different: they clashed inevitably, and for that reason, they barely tolerated each other. Although Subaru had found small coincidences between them, those common points were not enough to avoid clashes. Every time they met, they argued. Always. And when they did so without third parties present, the fights ended in a draw. Neither yielding, neither winning. Just two visions of the world that didn't know how to coexist.

???: [Well, to think that my foolish and reckless brother would wear such an expression.]

Subaru: […Prisca-tan?]

Turning down a hallway on the lowest floor of the mansion, he heard the mocking tone of the second mistress of the house. It was afternoon, and the sun, in all its splendor, streamed through the large windows, illuminating the interior with an almost celestial grace. But even so, her mere presence made that same sun shrink, ashamed, as if its light paled before the radiance emanating from her figure just by standing.

Subaru hadn't even noticed that his legs were moving on their own. In situations where his mind got lost in spirals of useless thoughts, he had developed the peculiar habit of wandering through the mansion like a lost soul, with no definite direction. He always ended up in uncertain, even absurd places, like that time he unthinkingly entered the maids' bathroom—and miraculously there were none inside—or when he shamelessly walked into one of the servants' rooms just as she was taking off her pajamas.

Prisca: [What's wrong? Has my charm left you speechless?]

Subaru: [Huh? No! I mean, yes… a little… But that's not the point!]

Subaru replied, with a slight stutter that betrayed his composure.

Prisca: [Oh~? And what is it this time? Have you perhaps reconsidered your utopian and naive view of the world? Or are you perhaps crying over the mere death of the commoner who threatened your fragile life?]

Subaru: […]

Her voice slid like poison, disguised under a flirtatious tone. Every word Prisca uttered was not meant to hurt, but to make her brother reconsider the candid and naive ideals he had dragged along since too young an age.

Seeing Subaru's face, I knew I had hit the mark. His expression broke for just a second, but it was enough. Although her way of seeing things had always been twisted, she knew she was right. He couldn't deny it. And that she had said it with such direct words, it hurt him. Not because they were cruel, but because they were true. Even if her intention was to guide him, his heart still trembled at the naked truth she had thrown at him.

In contrast to those utopian thoughts, his actions were often the opposite. After all, being the Emperor's son, it was impossible to escape constant danger. Since he could remember, he had been the target of multiple assassination attempts, and everything intensified when they met a certain older stepsister.

Even so, Prisca never ceased to be surprised. The world had shown him more than once that it had no mercy for the weak, and yet Subaru continued to cling to altruistic thoughts. Even today.

Prisca: [Your complaints and laments, those that are now forming in your mind, do not matter at all.]

Abandoning her thoughts about Subaru's ideals, Prisca slowly raised her hand. She held a letter with the Imperial seal in front of her face.

Prisca: [You know what day it is today, don't you?]

Subaru: […Huh? Uhhh… The day where I tell you how beautiful and wonderful you are?]

Changing the subject abruptly, Prisca caught him off guard. Subaru was still caught in a spiral of dark thoughts, lost in his inner world.

She didn't flinch at his answer, didn't even bat an eyelid. For Prisca, those answers were simply "nonsense," as she used to call them. But deep down, she recognized the prodigy that Subaru was. He had shown the cognitive capacity of an adult. At three years old, he had learned to read and write, even speaking with surprising fluency, as if he had the consciousness of an adult.

But life, as if seeking balance, had also given him a dangerous vulnerability: a reckless naivety that dragged him to act guided by his emotions, even in the most critical situations.

Prisca: [I won't even bother to respond to the nonsense that just came out of your mouth. Although, I must admit, they entertain me in a way. I could listen to you for pure pleasure, but, honestly, your brain retains the same information as a newborn's.]

Subaru: […Wait, are we talking about my mental capacity or the letter you have in your hand?! Stop changing the subject so abruptly!]

Prisca: [You, fool. At least make a vain attempt to remember today's date.]

Prisca stared intently at Subaru, who was still trying to keep up with her words. As she uttered the last sentence, he closed one eye as if to engrave that moment in his memory. Until…

Subaru: [The Emperor's birthday…]

Prisca: [Indeed. The letter shows that we must go to the Crystal Palace immediately after receiving it.]

The birthday of the Emperor of Vollachia. It was the day to celebrate the birth of the being who ruled the entire nation. And the place where such a commemoration took place was none other than the Imperial capital, Lupugana, more specifically, the imposing Crystal Palace. A place that, according to myths, was built entirely with magical stones that reflected not only light, but also the intentions of whoever passed through them.

Each year, on his birthday, the Emperor sent letters to all his descendants inviting them to appear before him. This day, obviously, was no exception.

Prisca: [You know what's next, right? I've already told the maids to prepare the carriage. We're leaving in no less than ten minutes. You'd better get ready.]

Without adding another word, and without waiting for any response from her brother, Prisca, with her impeccable posture, turned on her heels and headed to the main hall of the mansion. Her silhouette vanished among the corridors, leaving Subaru alone, immersed in a thick silence.

Subaru: […]

He still hadn't fully recovered from the words he had heard. Harsh, yes… but not false. The truths that came from Prisca usually hurt more than an open wound, because she knew exactly where to cut. Although he understood she was right, he couldn't help but feel guilty. But, guilty of what, exactly?

Of not living up to what his loved ones expect?

Although those "loved ones" were reduced to only two people—Prisca and Arakiya—he couldn't help but think about how he might disappoint them. Despite her arrogant attitude towards others, he knew Prisca appreciated him. Not in a tender or obvious way, but in her own way: raw, direct, silent. They were children of the emperor, living symbols of what it meant to be strong in the Vollachia Empire. And yet, Prisca had a brother who remained naive, impulsive, thoughtless. But… should he really feel guilty about that?

Maybe yes? Or maybe no?

Not even he knew for sure. He only knew that, within him, something burned. An untamed flame that refused to be extinguished, a mixture of rage, pain, and desire. The desire not to fail them. To prove that he also deserved to be there, among them. That even in this cruel and ruthless world, they could still find a little warmth, a little understanding, even if it was just between three people.

Sighing heavily, Subaru began to walk towards his room. On the way, he thought about what clothes he should wear for the occasion, although he knew that the choice of fabric would not hide the discomfort of his soul. Still, he prepared himself, both physically and mentally, because soon, he would be there, in front of them: his half-brothers and sisters. And, as every time they shared the same roof, every gesture, every word, would be a test of his own attitude towards his life.

Prisca: [Despite it being the Emperor's birthday, I'm impressed there are fewer people than I expected, considering how significant the day is.]

Subaru: [I agree with you. If you compare it to last year's, it seems even an otaku convention has more people than this.]

Prisca: [I didn't quite understand the nonsense you just spewed, but I did grasp the intention.]

With tones oscillating between surprise and thoughtfulness, brother and sister observed the place where the great imperial celebration would be commemorated.

The space was colossal, and simply saying it was "big" would be an insult. The room—larger than an average house—was decorated with majestic red fabrics, a deep blood red, hung from the ceiling and joined together in a wavy shape reminiscent of a silent dance. At the edges of each fabric, thin orange and white lines traced geometric figures, and in the center of each was printed the emblem of the imperial flag, resplendent under the dim golden light of the chandeliers.

The cream-toned walls, tall and massive, stood like stoic sentinels, silent guardians of the event's solemnity. In each corner, enormous white marble pillars supported the structure with the elegance of a ceremonial fortress.

Distributed throughout the venue, a star-shaped dining area extended, deliberately imitating the very structure of the royal capital. Under each dish, small honey-orange rugs provided a subtle distinction, as if the floor itself were dressed for the occasion.

In the center, a large white banquet occupied a circular space, where a dazzling variety of delicacies was offered without restriction. There were humble wheat bread dishes and dried fruits bathed in spiced sauces, to more ambitious creations: meats seasoned with exotic spices, seafood found only in the most remote corners of the empire, and desserts that shone like gems under the light. Everything arranged with an almost ceremonial order, as if even the food knew it was being watched.

Subaru: [But look at all the food! If it weren't for the fact that I'd be decapitated if I devoured that piece of meat, I'd eat until I got fat.]

Prisca: [If that were to happen, it would be an idiotic death. So idiotic that, considering all the circumstances you've been through, that death would be almost… appropriate. Appropriate for someone with no manners or a bit of decency.]

Prisca's mocking tone remained low enough for only Subaru to hear. She scoffed at the childish way he implied he was hungry, as if he couldn't even hide it. And she wasn't entirely wrong. Subaru hadn't had lunch that day; he had preferred to completely empty his stomach in the hope of devouring everything when it was finally time to eat.

After that brief exchange, they began to walk, dazzled by the excessive and almost ridiculous decoration of the place. Every step they took not only resonated on the marble floor, but also in their minds, enveloping them in an air of power and magnificence, as if each footstep affirmed their place in that world of privilege.

As already mentioned, compared to last year's celebration, the number of attendees was noticeably smaller, perhaps little more than half. The reason for that scarcity of guests was not entirely clear. It could be that an unexpected urgency had prevented many from arriving on time, or perhaps, by the Emperor's pure whim, some invitation letters never reached their destination. With him, there was always room for doubt.

???: [Well, even at a party of this caliber, you two always manage to draw all eyes, don't you?]

Subaru: [Huh…? Oh! Barthroy! Long time no see, brother.]

The voice surprised them, coming from behind. Subaru and Prisca turned their heads almost simultaneously, interrupting their conversation as they recognized the voice calling them. Seeing the newcomer, Subaru's eyes lit up and, without thinking, he ran straight to hug him.

Barthroy Fitts, another of the Imperial Princes of the Empire, smiled at them with his usual warmth. Unlike what was common among the Emperor's children—where hatred, competition, or indifference marked fraternal relationships—Barthroy seemed to be the exception to that unwritten rule. Whenever he shared a roof with his siblings, he treated them with a sincere, almost naive sweetness that many dismissed as a lack of cunning. Of course, no one came as close to him in that aspect as Subaru.

Barthroy: [How have you been, brother? Is our sister Prisca treating you well?]

Subaru: [Better than ever, brother. Although, of course… heh, in her own way, you could say.]

Prisca: [That you affirm my divine self-treats my brother justly only reinforces the divinity and preciousness that I am.]

Breaking the hug, Barthroy asked with a kindness that failed to hide the genuine concern he felt for Subaru. He knew him well. He had always considered him reckless, naive, and, frankly, unfit to occupy the imperial throne. And although he himself admitted to having certain impulsive traits, Dravien surpassed him by far in that aspect.

He always seemed childish, playful, as if the weight of the world didn't affect him. Of course, one might think that's normal at his age, right? But not for the Emperor's children. From a very young age, they knew what was expected of them. Circumstances forced them to grow up prematurely, to leave childhood behind almost at birth.

Except Dravien.

Despite being born in similar environments, under similar pressure and surveillance, he retained an unbreakable lightness, expressing himself with sarcasm, with warmth, sometimes even with a clumsiness that bordered on the ridiculous, but which was authentic. And perhaps for that very reason, Barthroy loved him. He admired him.

What a pity that when that day comes, when destiny finally imposes itself… he will only be a memory in their minds.

Subaru: [Barthroy… are you okay? Your eyes darkened for a moment.]

Barthroy: [No… sorry. I think we should leave this conversation for another time, okay? Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy the party.]

Subaru: [Of course… but if something is bothering you, I'm here, okay?]

Barthroy: […Thank you very much for your words of support, brother.]

Walking deliberately, Barthroy slowly moved away under Subaru's distressed gaze and Prisca's analytical look. Only a few seconds had passed since Barthroy had greeted them, but the expression he had made just moments ago gave the two siblings an idea of what was going on in his head.

Subaru felt a heavy oppression in his chest seeing his brother walk away like that: so sad, so lonely. He could guess what was going through his mind, but he wasn't sure how much it was really affecting him. That uncertainty, that emptiness of not knowing how to comfort him, gnawed at him from within.

Subaru: [Even though I know he's upset with me in some way… I really still don't understand him.]

Prisca: [That's because, when it comes to reading the room, you always seem to have the same sensitivity as a newborn.]

Subaru: [Are we at the emperor's party or the party to mock my social skills?! And what's with that redundancy?! You already told me that insult a few hours ago at the mansion!]

Prisca: [A goddess like me doesn't needs to waste her neurons to criticize every aspect of someone who doesn't even know how to use cutlery correctly. Hmph!]

With her usual ironic and cutting tone, Prisca didn't miss the opportunity to mock, as always, Subaru's obvious emotional clumsiness. He, playing along, raised his finger in accusation while raising his voice a little more than necessary, causing several people around them to look at them with a mixture of discomfort and curiosity.

But the twins cared little for those frivolous glances. Ignoring them completely, they continued walking together, side by side, as if the attention of the whole world was nothing more than background noise. Whoever observed them at that moment would have immediately noticed how dazzling their outfits were, radiating an almost unnatural aura of elegance and mystery.

Prisca looked magnificent. Not like a shooting star, but like a sun strolling naturally through the hall, eclipsing everyone with her mere presence. Her dress perfectly matched the color of her crimson eyes: blood red, crossed by obsidian black lines and golden details that drew symmetrical patterns from the shoulders to the skirt. The long sleeves left her small shoulders delicately exposed. The dress was adorned with small gems that looked like emeralds, arranged around a large central petal in the shape of a black rose. The opulent skirt, composed of multiple layers, played with transparencies of red and black tulle, moving like a wave with her steps.

Around her neck she wore her classic necklace: three perfectly aligned, round, blue crystals.

Subaru, on the other hand, while retaining a markedly childish presence, radiated an air of elegance and mystery that contrasted with his appearance. His attire was impeccable: light-absorbing black pants and shoes, a white shirt with a perfectly adjusted tie, and lapels in a darker tone that added depth to the ensemble, with white gloves. Over the shirt, a crimson red vest stood out intensely, like a silent declaration of authority and distinction.

His coat was a long garment, extending almost to the floor. Its tones varied between deep orange and blood red, intermingling in a vibrant gradient. Firm, symmetrical black lines ran through the entire fabric forming patterns. The coat's lapels, stiff and perfectly delineated, had notches and rolled cuffs.

???: [Even at a party of such caliber, you always find a way to steal all eyes. Truly, your insolence knows no bounds.]

Prisca: [Hmmm? I have to agree with you, elder brother. If his arrogance were to vanish, even for a second, the whole world would probably collapse.]

Subaru: [First it was Prisca-tan, and now you too, Vincent?! How many more people want to crush my fragile heart tonight? What did I do to deserve so much poison disguised as affection?!]

Vincent: [The mere fact that your presence shares the same space as mine is, in itself, reason enough to consider it an insult.]

From behind, as the twins walked calmly, a presence different from Barthroy's burst into the atmosphere with an energy that altered everything. With a wine glass in each hand, a posture as erect as an imperial statue, and a gaze as sharp as a dagger's edge, the stranger—who was no longer a stranger—made his entrance: Vincent.

After exchanging a few words laden with contempt with Subaru, Vincent offered them the glasses he held without explanation. Not a word, just a gesture. Brother and sister accepted the gift with an almost unsettling confidence.

In the Empire, it was well known that intrigues among nobles were not a game, but a constant threat. From subtle poisons dissolved in wine to silent assassins hired for indecent sums, every noble lived knowing that it could be the last sip, the last night. And yet, the twins did not hesitate for an instant. They seemed, in some way, oblivious to that world of suspicion. Or perhaps, simply, they knew they were untouchable.

Subaru, for his part, did hesitate for a brief second. The relationship between him and Vincent had never been particularly warm, and that coldness could not be ignored so easily. However, after seeing Prisca drink elegantly, he decided to take a sip.

In this world, Subaru had been forced to get used to the taste of alcohol. In his previous life, he didn't touch a drop, mostly because he was never old enough, nor did he have the desire or the circumstances to do so. But now, in this new reality, where imperial lineage embraced him like an ironic destiny, wine had become part of the protocol.

After taking a sip of wine, Vincent diverted his gaze from the conversation around him. His narrowed eyes rested on the hall, noting with interest the alarming number of empty spaces. There were very few people for such an important event.

Vincent: [Anyway… the low attendance is surprising. One would think that, considering the type of event, there would be more familiar faces.]

Subaru: [You think so too? As far as I know, nothing extraordinary has happened in the Empire today. Unless His Excellency woke up more antisocial than usual.]

Vincent: [Hard to say. With him, it's always a mystery. Besides, it seems that, in all these months, you haven't learned even a little bit of manners.]

Subaru: [Why do you always look for any excuse to denigrate me?! Although, well… being you, I should have seen it coming.]

Vincent: [Hmmm… despite having the mentality of a spoiled disrespectful brat, at least you know when to yield.]

Subaru: [I'm only yielding because I don't want another argument with someone who treats other people's lives as if they were disposable objects.]

As Subaru's venom-laced sentence concluded, the air between the three presences became leaden. Tension seized the space with the speed of lightning, invisible but undeniably suffocating.

Prisca, who until that moment had remained silent, watching the exchange like a curious spectator, couldn't help but curve her lips into a smirk of amusement. She knew that tone, that spark that preceded a fire: another argument was about to erupt. One more between her siblings. And she, from her pedestal of irony, would enjoy it from head to toe, as if it were the most entertaining play of the day.

In stark contrast to their relaxed and playful attitude, the two males observed each other like lurking predators. Their narrowed eyes burned with opposing intentions: Subaru, with his crimson pupils glowing with rage, plus his peculiar terrifying gaze, held a look capable of incinerating the soul; Vincent, on the contrary, emanated a coldness so precise and lethal that his mere presence seemed capable of cutting the air like an ice dagger.

Two poles, one scorching, the other glacial, destined to clash once more.

Vincent: [Interesting analogy… But tell me, aren't you the one who always runs after those who have hurt you, like a wounded dog waiting for them to change with mere empty words? Who are you trying to convince with that, Dravien… them or yourself?]

Subaru: [Ghk?!]

A direct hit. Vincent's words shattered Subaru's ideals as if they were cracked glass. He didn't just criticize: he twisted every principle, reflecting his hypocrisy as if it were an unforgiving mirror. He showed him, cruelly and directly, that what he was doing was not for others… but for himself.

And yet, as expected, Subaru did not give up. Because if he has anything, it's that stubbornness that drags him on even when the whole world tramples him.

Subaru: [I… I don’t expect them to change. I just want to believe there’s still some humanity left in them. Even if it’s just a spark. Even if I’m the only idiot who tries…]

Vincent: [Believe, try, hope… always the same verbs of empty hope. Always repeating that sickening cycle, as if doing the same thing over and over will change something. How moving it sounds… if it weren't so pathetic.]

Subaru: […]

Vincent: [Do you know what your real problem is, Dravien? It’s not that you’re weak. It’s that you refuse to accept reality in such an unhealthy way that it becomes dangerous. You prefer to embrace your arrogant ideals rather than apply an ounce of reason. You obsess over saving what’s already broken, and when you fail, all you can do is lament like an abandoned child.]

Vincent’s words, like sharp daggers, once again cut through Subaru’s thoughts, piercing his will with cruel precision. He couldn't respond. Not because he had nothing to say, but because the poisonous truths he heard paralyzed him.

Subaru could only clench his fists in rage, so tightly that his knuckles turned white, trembling from the pressure. His eyes, previously fixed on Vincent with fire, now welled up. But it wasn't fear that overwhelmed him… it was fury. Fury at not being able to deny the truth in those words. Fury at feeling that Vincent was right.

In that country, weakness is not forgiven. It’s paid for with blood, at the very least with death. Yet, despite everything, Subaru chooses to believe. Because deep down, he wishes that one day… his kindness might touch the souls of those who only know how to harm.

Prisca: [Well, this is fun. I’d love to keep watching this exchange longer, but I know how it’ll end. Neither of you is going to back down, are you?]

Subaru: […Damn it!]

Prisca, who had listened to the entire conversation from beginning to end, couldn’t help but revel in the heated dispute between the two brothers. To her, who knew them too well, it was clear that neither intended to give in. Both were stubborn, proud, impulsive, and when they clashed, reason was usually the first thing to go. They would fight until a third party intervened… or until one of them tired first.

And this time, it was Subaru who yielded.

Muttering a curse into the air, he turned around with clenched fists and a tense jaw, walking in the opposite direction from Vincent. He tried to calm himself, to suppress the urge to shout at him or to turn back and continue the argument. But it wasn't worth it. Not now.

Vincent: [And to think he’s the more stubborn of the two…]

Prisca: [Ignore him, big brother. He’s had a very busy day. Let him come back when he’s calmed down.]

After the argument, the half-brother and sister exchanged opinions about their brother's tantrum. Vincent, with an eye narrowed in annoyance—or perhaps from the recent blow—and Prisca, still with an amused smirk that wavered between mockery and disdain, both looked at the same point: Subaru, who was walking away towards the snack bar. They watched him in silence, with a mix of emotions that oscillated between contained frustration and barely suppressed amusement. The atmosphere remained tense, as if unspoken words weighed more heavily than those that had already been shouted.

With a glass of wine in hand, Subaru headed to the snack bar, trying to feign calmness amidst the internal storm that gnawed at him. His thoughts spun restlessly, like a whirlpool trapped in a glass of water. The murmur of the lounge reached him as a distant, irrelevant, even annoying hum. There were too many people, too much laughter, and yet, he felt alone.

He picked up a snack almost instinctively, not really looking at what it was. Just as he brought it to his lips, a familiar voice, sickly sweet like spilled honey, cut through the noise, hitting him with force.

???: [Goodness! Why is my dear younger brother so alone in this place? Don’t you want to be with your charming twin sister?]

The world stopped for a second. Subaru slowly closed his eyes, suppressing the urge to squeeze the glass until it shattered. He felt the tension creep up his neck, tangling in his thoughts. That voice… that tone of feigned sweetness. Always the same game, always the same presence appearing at the worst possible moment, like a relentless curse following him.

He knew he didn’t need to turn to see her face; he knew it too well. And yet, something inside him wished to disappear, to flee far from that place, from that woman. He swallowed with difficulty. The day, already unbearable since then, had just gotten worse. Much worse.

Chapter Text

Lamia Godwin was a mastermind.

From birth, as a direct descendant of the Emperor of Vollachia, she perfectly understood the intricacies of the Imperial Rite: an ancient and cruel succession mechanism where, upon the emperor's death, his heirs had to battle each other to determine who would rule the Empire.

Therefore, comprehending the magnitude of such a rite, Lamia began preparing the ground at a very young age, planting invisible seeds in every possible corner. Intrigues, alliances, whispers in ears... all with a single purpose: to ensure that, when the time came, only she could rise as the next Empress of Vollachia.

She had initiated preparations in silence, like a shadow gliding between imperial birthdays and the golden halls of the palace, weaving webs of influence among her many siblings scattered across the vast Empire.

At each family gathering, Lamia played a different role. Sometimes she was a fragile child who claimed to detest the Imperial Rite and its senseless violence; other times, an empathetic, understanding older sister, a confidante who "comforted" and "helped" anyone in need. But it was all strategy. An emotional chess game.

However, there were three people she could never manipulate with words alone.

The first: Vincent, her dear older brother. Unlike the others, he was perceptive, intelligent, daring. Lamia admired him. Whenever protocol allowed, she would approach him with any excuse, just to hear his voice. She felt her heart beat faster with every word he uttered, even when they spoke of trivialities. Vincent was everything a future emperor should be... though she wanted to be empress. And secretly, she wished he wouldn't stand in her way. Still, she couldn't hate him. He was the only one she could never take her eyes off.

But with the twins, everything was different. Prisca was, from the very first moment, a natural enemy. Lamia still remembered the day she first saw her, at age nine: when their gazes met, it was as if destiny itself whispered to her that this crimson-eyed girl would be her arch-nemesis.

Oil and water. Opposing natures that could never mix, no matter how hard they tried. She never understood why Vincent enjoyed her company so much. What did he see in her that Lamia couldn't offer?

And then there was Dravien, Prisca's twin brother. A living paradox. In her eyes, he was an abomination, an anomaly within Vollachia's strict line of succession. He spoke without filter, laughed when he shouldn't, didn't measure danger or timing.

He feigned a naivety bordering on the ridiculous... and yet, there he was. Alive. By her side. Watching her with those crimson eyes every time they crossed paths. Lamia suspected something about him. Behind that childish and clumsy mask, she believed she perceived a calculating mind, a silent genius who moved his pieces with a subtlety bordering on perfection.

She didn't know if it was paranoia, but something inside her urged her not to underestimate him. From the first time she saw him, his attitude towards life had been exactly the same. Not a single change, not a crack. In her mind, Dravien was almost comparable to Vincent in terms of social standing. And that deeply disturbed her.

But now, seeing the individual named Dravien, his face and gaze lost among the appetizers, she knew it was an opportunity. On the occasions when she secretly observed him with analytical attention, that mask of childlike innocence almost never slipped.

But today, ever since she witnessed his recent discussion with Vincent, something had changed. She knew, with a strange and precise certainty, that this moment was hers. She didn't know exactly what those recurring arguments were about, but the tone, the expressions, the tense silences... everything pointed to a matter of great importance.

However, that was no longer relevant. What mattered was what was happening right now: Dravien had shown a glimpse of vulnerability, and she intended to exploit it. She could approach him, once again, with her act of the loving older sister, that carefully constructed, so smoothly poisonous farce.

Lamia: [Goodness! Why is my dear younger brother so alone in this place? Don’t you want to be with your charming twin sister?]

Arriving with a glass of wine elegantly resting in the palm of her hand, Lamia drew a wide, almost maternal smile, deliberately invading Dravien's personal space. Her presence was like a dense perfume seeping in without permission.

He, who just moments before seemed lost in a kind of silent melancholy, looked up. And it was then that his expression changed; from the subtlest melancholy to a playful and childlike demeanor, as if nothing had truly happened.

Dravien: [Oh, older sister! I didn't see you here. How are you doing?]

With a childish tone, Dravien greeted Lamia in a way that others would consider disrespectful.

Lamia: [I feel exquisitely well. And even more so realizing I'm talking with my tender, favorite younger brother.]

With words that slipped like warm honey, Lamia elegantly placed the wine glass on the appetizer table. Without warning, she enveloped Dravien in a feverish embrace, squeezing him with exaggerated effusiveness that "accidentally" nestled him between her generous bust... overly generous for someone barely thirteen.

Dravien, for his part, was paralyzed. He had no time to react. The wine in his glass trembled, spilling partly onto his face and, to his utter misfortune, also between Lamia's breasts. The contact shook him: a shiver ran down his spine, and, red as a strawberry, he let out a sharp, childlike whimper, more typical of a scared girl than a noble.

As she gently swayed from side to side, holding him trapped in her arms as if he were a toy, Lamia caught a disturbance in the air. A chilling vibration grazed the back of her neck. She didn't need to turn around. That stinging sensation, direct as a dagger, could only mean one thing: a furious, boiling gaze, threatening to cut off her head with its eyes. A gaze laden with sibling rage. You didn't need to be a mastermind to know who it came from. It was the death glare of her younger half-sister: Prisca.

She stared as if those eyes could sever her neck. A shiver ran down her spine every time she felt that fixed, piercing gaze, like a knife about to tear her skin. She wanted to turn, just a little, just to see her face. But she knew she shouldn't.

She couldn't afford to look at her "dear" half-sister with contempt... though, deep down, she yearned with all her soul to see her face. She wanted to see the rage in her expression, the fury contained overflowing from her eyes, just to savor the exquisite pleasure of seeing her lose her composure on such a carefully orchestrated occasion.

Dravien: [Sister...! Please, stop now!]

Lamia: [Oops... My apologies, dear brother. But, for some reason, seeing you brings me immense joy. One I don't even understand myself.]

As she finished her sentence with a smile that promised no good, she stopped hugging him. With theatrical gentleness, she placed him on the floor, as if he were a porcelain doll she had been using for amusement. Dravien, still stunned and with crimson cheeks, averted his gaze.

His trembling eyes avoided Lamia's face, focusing instead on his wine glass, as if he could find an escape there. The glass, which had been almost full, now had less than half its content. The floor between them was stained with crimson wine, a puddle that broke the neat symmetry of the white marble. A small liquid tragedy marking their encounter.

Lamia: [And apologies for that little accident too. But, now that I think about it... you still haven't answered your older sister's question, have you?]

Dravien: [Ah... yes, that's right. What... did you ask me, exactly?]

Lamia: [Oh, goodness gracious. How distracted my sweet and tender younger brother can be, isn't that right?]

Dravien: [One could say. That's just me... right?]

With uncomfortable smiles from both sides, brother and sister, each with one eye closed, they looked at each other, holding their gaze, yet failing to hide the palpable tension between them. Their smiles were forced, like masks attempting to conceal discomfort, while the air grew heavier with each passing moment. Everything indicated that this conversation was anything but pleasant, though both made efforts to disguise it.

Because, deep down, they both knew one thing, and only one. They knew that what was taking place was a farce, a game carefully orchestrated to get what each desired. Everything had to be meticulously calculated, for, after all, siblings rarely exchanged meaningful words. And now, that she had made the first move, Lamia knew she had to be especially careful with what she said, with every word she let slip.

Although the embrace between them seemed to make no sense, in reality, it was nothing more than a calculated maneuver. Lamia hugged Dravien, in a seemingly harmless gesture, but one that managed to disconcert him for a moment.

It was enough time for him to let his guard down, giving her the opportunity she had been waiting for: to penetrate his defenses with the true, hidden question. Dravien, for his part, fell right into the trap, unaware that by doing so, he was forced to give an answer he did not wish to offer.

Despite Dravien being a genius, one of those rare individuals with an outstanding intellect, he had a defect that he found difficult to manage when it came to Lamia: his impulsiveness. He couldn't resist bringing up certain topics when the situation favored it, and tonight seemed like the moment had arrived.

Dravien: [Well... let's just say we had... a small disagreement?]

He said, shrugging, with a nervous smile, as if trying to downplay the situation.

Lamia: [A 'small disagreement'? But I could see you left that conversation with the eyes of someone defeated. You even left your dear twin sister behind.]

 As she said this, Lamia sounded as if she was trying to console her brother, but she did so with a false sweetness.

 Her face twisted into an expression of pity, the same one a mother might offer her injured child, though in her case, that pity was merely a facade.

Even though Lamia knew perfectly well that Dravien was aware of her act, she remained steadfast in her role as a concerned older sister, as if she hadn't seen the satisfied gaze of another older brother observing from a distance. That brother, with a smirk on his face, might well be enjoying the show.

Lamia: [...Don't you trust this older sister?]

Dravien: [It's not that! It's... it's something complicated and... delicate for me.]

Now she knew Dravien was trapped. As the main question slowly loomed over him, like a meteorite about to strike, the sub-questions she tossed out gradually eroded his defenses. Now, he had to provide an explanation for the lack of trust he felt towards his older half-sister, something he had never experienced before.

 Since they met, he had always treated everyone well, without exception, including her. He even promised her that, should any problem arise, he would consult her before making decisions.

However, the fact that Lamia mentioned his twin sister changed everything. Something in her words hinted that she knew exactly what his weak point was, as if she were trying to completely shatter the mask he had carefully maintained.

Lamia: [And here I thought, being your older sister, you'd tell me everything...]

Dravien: [...]

The silence stretched as time passed. Dravien remained quiet, as if he were digging within himself for an escape, some crack through which to flee the oppression his older sister exerted over him. Meanwhile, Lamia changed her expression: from feigned compassion to carefully disguised disappointment.

It wasn't just disappointment in her younger brother for not keeping his word—it was something deeper, more personal. In addition to having to regain his "trust," Dravien now had to bear the weight of responding to those questions Lamia had launched like meteorites, with the precision and brutality of someone who knows exactly where to strike.

Lamia: [...Well, it's true I haven't always been there for you, as we only see each other on special occasions. It doesn't matter if you don't want to answer... I... I understand.]

She lied. She knew it perfectly well. She was a hypocrite, and yet, she didn't care. In that emotional tug-of-war, Lamia had absolute control. She molded the conversation to her convenience, as if directing a play where every pause and every word gave her more power.

 With each sentence that left her mouth, the scales tilted further in her favor, giving her room for error, leeway to retreat, if necessary, but never losing dominance.

Dravien, on the other hand, still remained silent. The childlike silhouette and presence that usually enveloped him had completely vanished, leaving in their place a melancholic and desolate figure. His face, tilted diagonally towards the ground, projected a silent sadness. The characteristic bangs that always fell across his forehead now completely covered his crimson eyes, thus concealing not only his gaze but also the expression he wore at that instant. She had pressed enough.

The hidden question still lurked in the shadows, like a thorn neither dared to pull out. And meanwhile, from both flanks—the topic of his sister Prisca and the broken trust between the two of them—were cracking his defenses, inch by inch, word by word. She had him cornered. Only the outcome remained. Whatever Dravien said at this moment, one way or another, would end up benefiting her. Because whatever the truth, she was the one who needed it most.

…

However, as if the world itself bent to someone else's will, an unexpected presence burst into the conversation—subtle but laden with tension—that had thus far dominated the air. A figure emerged with a firm stride, placing herself beside Dravien.

It was Prisca. She had arrived on the scene, and she did so like a solar storm, in a dress so dazzling it made the sun's rays ridiculous. Without a second's hesitation, she shot Lamia a look charged with vile hatred. She hadn't even realized when she had started walking towards them: she was too engrossed in her desire to unmask Dravien as to notice the movement of her own feet.

He, for his part, surprisingly averted his gaze towards his sister. His previously desolate and somber presence revitalized as if Prisca were a battery directly connected to his soul. Something within him reactivated. With her arrival, the conversation, which until then had played in Lamia's favor, suddenly became unbalanced. The advantage had begun to waver.

Prisca: [Well, if it isn't my 'charming' sister... and damned bitch.]

Lamia: [Oh! And to think you'd lose your composure so easily, right after I so intensely hugged your sweet little brother.]

Prisca: [You'd better shut that vixen mouth of yours. Every word that comes out of there corrupts the air and offends my charming eardrums.]

A deathly silence followed Prisca's finished sentence. Now, younger sister and older sister stared fixedly at each other, as if they were two predators studying each other before the final attack, barely containing the instinct to tear each other apart.

The tension in that enclosed space became almost tangible, like an invisible barrier that would mercilessly crush anyone who didn't have the strength to withstand its weight. Dravien looked indecisive.

His eyes darted from one to the other as if searching for an escape, a word to lighten the dense air, but he found none. He was trapped in the middle of an emotional minefield. Undecided how to continue the conversation, or if he should even do so.

Lamia noticed. She knew that moments before she had had the upper hand, that she had controlled the direction of the dialogue, the rhythm, the pauses, the pressure... but now, with a single intervention, Prisca had claimed center stage, and everything she said from here on could completely change the course.

Prisca: [I've been watching how you've made my foolish brother uncomfortable, haven't you? So, I must ask... why have you done it? Are you so ignorant that you don't realize the topic you're bringing up is a sensitive one for him?]

Every word of hers was like a precisely thrown dagger. Although the tone remained soft, almost polite, the edge behind each syllable was unmistakable. A shield emerged from her lips, not to protect herself, but to firmly cover her brother, anticipating the metaphorical projectiles that, though he couldn't hear them, she intuited were hurting him.

And she was right. Prisca, even without having heard the previous conversation, had deduced enough. Her intuition was almost frightening, a tool as fine as it was dangerous.

Lamia understood this. She knew Prisca was one of those people who didn't need proof to attack with surgical precision, because her instinct was enough to build a narrative that favored her... and, moreover, to make it credible. But Lamia wouldn't be left behind. The smile that barely curved her lips was more provocation than courtesy.

Her eyes gleamed, not with fury, but with a twisted enthusiasm: she had understood the change in the game, and she had no intention of yielding. She wasn't the type to retreat or be intimidated by a melodramatic performance, no matter how perfect it was.

Lamia: [It's not that I was ignorant of the great pain my tender younger brother must feel, but... he made me a promise.]

Prisca: [A promise, huh...?]

Lamia, who until recently maintained a provocative gaze, explained—with feigned lightness—the reason why Dravien had been enveloped in a desolate aura minute earlier. Prisca, for her part, raised an eyebrow in a clear sign of accusation; she needed no words to make it evident that she didn't believe a single syllable of what Lamia had said.

 Her expression was enough. Then Lamia, who had until now worn a bold and defiant mask, skillfully shed it to put on another: that of a gentle and compassionate older sister, betrayed by the broken trust of her sweet and tender younger brother.

Lamia: [Yes... a promise. We were supposed to, as siblings, tell each other the things that bothered us. But, apparently... it was all a vile lie.]

Her eyes welled up with fake tears; her performance, if there were movie actors in this world, would deserve a standing ovation. With her hands covering her face, she sobbed irregularly, perfectly portraying the image of a sister hurt by a broken promise.

 Prisca, meanwhile, let out a long sigh, laden with resignation. Her face was partially covered, making it difficult to read her expression. But if one had to guess, she was probably showing a mix of obvious boredom and a carefully contained, exasperated anger.

Dravien: [Stop...]

Lamia: [Apologies, younger brother? Apparently, I—]

Dravien: [I. Said. Stop.]

Dravien, who until that moment had maintained an almost spectral silence as words flew between Lamia and Prisca, raised his voice. He didn't shout, but his tone—deep, concentrated, firm as a knife contained in a sheath—cut through the air with the same intensity as a shout.

Lamia, still engrossed in her theatrical performance for Prisca, didn't hear him at first. She had anticipated that he would intervene at some point; that's why she wasn't surprised that he finally dared to speak to her directly.

What did unnerve her was the tone he used: it wasn't one of pleading, or weariness, but of authority. Dravien looked at her with an impassive, almost professional face. All previous emotion had evaporated, as if his soul had closed a door from within.

 His eyes, once melancholic, now burned with a contained, silent, but dangerous flame. A flame that didn't scream, but threatened to devour everything in its path. A flame that sought to incinerate the one who had ignited it. Lamia.

Dravien: [...I didn't think I'd have to remind you, Lamia.]

His voice sounded clear, vibrating with intensity in the air separating the three. It boomed like a dry thunderclap, cutting off any thought, any possible interruption. The tone was deadly, almost imperial, as if he were addressing not equals, but servants. He wasn't talking to his sister. He was talking about her, over her, with the authority of one who doesn't doubt in crushing.

Dravien: [I promised you, yes. I said I'd tell you everything... when I was ready. Not when you wanted. Not when it suited you.]

A pause followed. Not just any pause, but one that stretched like an abyss between them. A pause that seemed to swallow time, where every second was a stone falling on the chests of those present.

Prisca, who had observed the development of the speech in absolute silence, found herself holding her breath. It wasn't the first time she had witnessed an argument between them, but this... this was different. The change in her brother's voice was like a blunt blow against the mask he always wore. Although she knew Dravien possessed a precocious, almost terrifying intellect, she was still surprised by the composure with which he disarmed Lamia word by word.

Dravien: [What you just did... is distort my promise. You manipulated it to satisfy your ego. You've shown how hypocritical and selfish you are, sister.]

Lamia: [...]

There was no response. None. Not a grimace, not an exhale. Neither fury nor tears. Lamia remained so still she seemed like a statue. She held her arms crossed over her chest, as if her body were sealed, armored against the verbal attack.

Her gaze, concentrated and cold, didn't even tremble. It wasn't indifference... it was calculation. Behind her impassive face, she was thinking. Planning. Waiting. It wasn't silence born of defeat. It was silence as a tactic.

Dravien: [I thought... I thought if I tried... if I promised myself, if I didn't stop, you would change.]

His voice cracked slightly. It was barely a tremor, but enough for Prisca to notice. It was a whisper of humanity in the midst of his mask of ice. A trace of vulnerability that, for a descendant of the Emperor of Vollachia, was almost shameful.

Dravien: [But now I realize... how candid I was. Damn bitch.]

After delivering the insult directed at his older half-sister, the space became thick with silence for the three of them. Dravien, with a serious face and a firm voice, delivered his words like a whip, without hesitation or restraint. He insulted Lamia directly, without worrying about the consequences. For her part, Lamia barely could avoid letting out a laugh. From the moment Dravien began to speak, something in his tone was provoking her.

Dravien: [You're just an opportunist. You look for the slightest chance to benefit yourself... you, and only you.]

Silence. A silence so absolute it seemed to devour the air. And then...

Lamia: [Ha... haha... hahahahahahaha!]

First it was a soft puff, a whisper barely audible. Then, her voice grew in intensity, vibrant, impertinent. It was an authentic, mocking, almost cruel laugh. Lamia was laughing. Laughing in the face of her younger brother's speech, as if it were nothing more than the act of an impromptu comedian.

Lamia laughed elegantly, her clear and measured voice contrasting with the growing tension that began to entangle.

It wasn't a noisy or mocking laugh, but a contained chuckle. Prisca glanced at her, a slight eyebrow raised, already guessing the reason for that reaction. She knew her sister too well not to anticipate the veiled mockery behind each of her gestures.

Still, she said nothing. Dravien, on the other hand, remained motionless, his gaze fixed on Lamia, his eyes charged with a seriousness that bordered on a warning. He didn't blink, didn't react. He just watched her.

Lamia: [Awww, little brother... What a great show. I see why my dear Prisca keeps you close.]

She slowly approached Prisca's head, leaning in with an unsettling, almost theatrical elegance. Her crimson eyes sought hers with feline precision. They met. One gaze held indifference and contained hatred, the other with a playful smirk.

Lamia: [Because you see him for what he is... a jester. A cheap means to entertain your sad and pathetic life, right?]

Prisca: [...]

Prisca didn't need to say anything. Because, although she uttered no words, the sound of something breaking filled the air. It wasn't a physical object, but something deeper: a mask. The mask of indifference with which Prisca had covered herself throughout the conversation crumbled. Her serene expression gave way to a brutal distortion: a furrowed brow, twisted lips, clenched teeth. Everything on her face screamed a single emotion: fury. A raw, violent, naked rage.

You didn't need to be a genius to understand the obvious: Prisca didn't want to talk, or argue, or hurt with words. She wanted to break his face. And do it with her bare hands.

Lamia: [But anyway... I got what I wanted. Thanks for doing me the favor, little brother.]

She said it with a smile that wasn't of satisfaction, but of hunger. As if she had just devoured something precious. Pointing her finger at Dravien, Lamia's voice was of absolute resolution. She, from beginning to end, had manipulated and twisted the conversation to her own benefit.

Lamia's entire purpose had now been resolved, as she managed to find a small but significant weakness in her arch-enemy that she could use later: The compassion she feels for her brother.

After pointing at her younger brother, she began to walk with a firm stride towards the only person she truly liked: Vincent. He stood slightly apart, at the edge of the shared space between the three, with an analytical and cold expression directed towards them.

That gaze fascinated her, not only for its acumen, but for how well it looked on that beautiful, almost sculpted face. In addition to the benefit she had just gained—one she could use later, at the right moment—she could now also afford to approach and converse with her great older brother. A luxury, yes, because talking to Vincent wasn't something granted too just anyone. And he, in turn, had earned it.

Today, undoubtedly, is a great day.

Chapter Text

Today is, without a doubt, a great day.

…

A perfect day, yes. To hell with it, of course.

Those were the embarrassing—but honest—thoughts that crossed Subaru’s mind as he watched his stepsister Lamia leave the conversation that the three of them had been having just moments before.
The atmosphere in that same space felt bitter, almost melancholic, as if every trace of positive emotion had been ruthlessly ripped away.

After that entire conversation, from beginning to end, it left a bitter taste in his mouth—bitter as the atmosphere itself. Between the masks he had to wear, the half-truths he had to articulate, and the emotions erupting like a volcano, Subaru now found himself in a whirlwind of negative feelings swarming his mind like relentless mosquitoes.

He felt anger, sadness, helplessness, a hatred he didn’t know whether to direct at Lamia… or at himself.
Hatred for lacking self-control. Hatred for letting Lamia manipulate him from start to finish. Hatred for not realizing sooner that Lamia only saw him as an object, a means to an end.

Prisca, for her part, just a few seconds after Lamia disappeared from the room, regained her composure with unsettling speed. She stood there, with her usual elegant rigidity, looking at him with an expression that bordered on indifference, though a hint of resentment lingered at the corner of her lips. Her eyes, however, betrayed her. They hadn’t stopped watching him with the same intensity with which she had, moments earlier, condemned him to silence.

Subaru: […]

He felt like shit.
No, something worse than that.

He stared at the floor. He rose slowly, his back tense like a cable about to snap, still holding firmly onto the half-empty wine glass. The liquid trembled—not from his pulse, but from the contained rage.

His eyes drifted to the perfect marble of the room, where a puddle of wine, spilled during the chaos, still lay near his feet. The drops slid with cruel elegance, almost staining his shoes. For a second, he felt as if it were his own blood trickling there.

Subaru: […]

Everything had been a failure.

That was the only conclusion his dark, stubborn mind could reach. There was no redemption, no consolation—only a constant echo repeating his ineptitude with the cruelty of an eternal judgment.

The hatred, that thick fog of poorly digested feelings, could no longer be contained in his mind. It ran freely through his veins, burning like a punishment he had imposed on himself. He could feel it in his trembling breath, in the frantic beats of a heart that could find no rest.

It was a repetition. A spiral. He remembered, over and over, how powerless he was, how reckless he had been.

Nothing more.

He was no hero, no sage. He was no chosen one, nor anyone capable of changing others with words or deeds.

No matter how hard he tried, no matter how loudly he screamed his truth to the sky, or bled for the sake of others, it always ended the same: with the same dirty, worn-out ending.

A conclusion written in advance. Death… or the birth of another enemy who would curse him for existing.

…

Then, like a cold splash of water in the midst of his delirium, Prisca’s voice pierced him without mercy.

Prisca: [You’d better change that… wistful attitude. It would be quite the embarrassment if the crowd saw you like this, so unhinged. And even more so, seeing it as my brother.]

There was no consolation, no love, no trust… Prisca’s tone hit like icy water, abruptly freezing his thoughts. All that remained was her unique coldness. With her arms crossed elegantly and a posture worthy of royalty, she tried—her own way—to strip away the harmful thoughts swirling around Subaru.

Turning his head toward her, they met face to face. Her eyes examined him analytically, almost surgically. He knew what she was up to: she was scrutinizing him, deciphering with every microgesture what he was hiding inside. She tried to undress him emotionally with just a look.

And, though he didn’t want to admit it, what he most desired in that moment was something so simple and stupidly human as a bit of comfort. A warm word. A gesture of closeness. Guidance… something that could only come from the person he had been most emotionally close to in this world.

But Prisca was not a figure of comfort.
…
He lied. Although he had never been good at reading people, he knew that Prisca, every time she saw him tormented, comforted him in her own way. Not with hugs or sweet words, but with her constant presence. Yet, when she spoke, letting her direct, unadorned, uncompassionate phrases fly, it hurt even more. And even knowing she did not speak out of cruelty, he couldn’t help feeling that, sometimes, Prisca healed by wounding.

Prisca: [You know what? You surprised me. You surprised me by how you exploded at that damn bitch, you know? And to think my incompetent younger brother is capable of wearing that expression… Especially toward someone you thought could be changed with mere words.]

The words landed like a solid blow. There was no mockery in her voice, but no compassion either. It was more a mix of amusement and morbid curiosity. Subaru did not respond immediately. Not because he had nothing to say, but because he didn’t know how. Something in his chest tightened, as if her words had stirred something he had tried to keep buried.

Subaru: [Wow… even in this situation, you always manage to break my heart with your frivolous words, huh?]

He murmured with a crooked smile that could not completely hide the fissure opening inside him.

Trying to break the growing tension between them, Subaru attempted—obviously in vain—to change the subject. His words sounded more like a resigned sigh than a genuine attempt to divert attention.

Prisca: [My stance toward you doesn’t have to change just because your mood wavers, whether for better or worse.]

As expected, Prisca didn’t budge an inch. With firmness and naturalness, she steered the conversation back to where it belonged, ignoring her brother’s feeble attempt to soften the moment. Her voice didn’t sound cruel—it was steady.

Prisca: [But now, it seems you’ve let the words of that disgusting bitch affect you deeply.]

And she was right.

The clearest proof of it was the way Subaru—a impulsive, often childish young man—now remained silent, tense, his gaze unable to stay focused in any direction for long. It was as if the weight of what had happened was slowly dragging him into a sea of thoughts he didn’t know how to navigate.

Prisca watched him intently, revealing no sympathy for the cause of his suffering. She knew exactly what was happening: his mask, the one he always used to hide what he truly felt, had been broken. Not by just anyone, not by a formidable enemy, nor by some inevitable tragedy, but by Lamia. Precisely by her.

The only person Prisca wished she had never met, and who had now become the root of that pained expression on her brother’s face.

But Subaru, being Subaru, still had something to say. Most likely, he would—unsuccessfully—try to belittle his emotions or unleash another delirium to—

Subaru: [Sigh… I can’t help it, you know…? I… I believed in her. Truly. I thought that, if only she listened to me for a moment, even just one… she might change.]

…Or maybe not.

Prisca couldn’t help but show a slight look of surprise. That was not the sarcastic, carefree voice she knew so well. No. That was a broken, melancholic voice, heavy with a hope that was slowly fading.

Her brother, that clumsy fool with whom she had argued countless times over his stubbornness or naivety, now spoke as if the world had suddenly taught him what it meant to trust the wrong person.

And the most striking part wasn’t that he felt this way, but that he admitted it so openly. Subaru had always been the first to deny his wounds, to hide them behind a forced smile or a graceless joke. But now, no. Now he was confronting it. And that, for Prisca, was as admirable as it was curious.

But Prisca, being herself, would not let this shift in the scene unravel her thoughts in front of him.

Prisca: [And do you really think your words, so naive and desperate, managed to change even an ounce of her?]

Subaru: […]

Prisca: [You don’t need to answer. Your eyes already state what your mouth cannot pronounce.]

And she couldn’t have been more right.

Prisca had made it clear with her words. She had shown, once again, how reality had no qualms trampling her brother’s ideals and thoughts. Subaru could want to believe in change a thousand times, but the world… the world would not pause for him.

Everything that had happened in the past few minutes confirmed it. Lamia, with that venomous voice disguised as melting honey and such a shameless, twisted personality, had revealed the truth with cruel naturalness: no matter how many times he spoke to her, no matter how many attempts he made to understand her, to reach her… Lamia would not change. Not for him. Not for anyone.

And Prisca, who had watched everything from her throne of silence and relentless judgment, simply demonstrated that her brother’s faith was, in part, nothing more than a fragile flame, ready to be extinguished by the cold wind of a truth he refused to accept.

Subaru: [I know it’s wrong… I really do. But… is it foolish to try to change someone knowing perfectly well that they won’t change?]

Yet Subaru, being the stubborn and obstinate young man he always was, refused to accept the reality right before his eyes. He saw it, yes. It was there, clear and undeniable. But he wouldn’t acknowledge it. He resisted.

No matter how many times it was repeated to him, no matter how much evidence he had in front of him, he kept denying it. For him, admitting it would be like surrendering, and Subaru hated surrender. He preferred to cling to his idea, even knowing it no longer made sense.

Prisca: […Right now, your nonsense is beyond imaginable.]

Prisca noticed something.

Despite how stubborn her brother could be, this time it wasn’t simply obstinacy. He was now denying reality with an almost superhuman force. It wasn’t just an impulsive reaction or a mere whim. It was a deep, desperate denial.

Because they were no ordinary pair of youths. They were the children of the current Emperor of Vollachia, direct descendants of his blood, bearers of his legacy. That fact, that title, did not allow them the luxury of getting lost in trivialities such as sentimentality or emotions. They could not afford to falter, to doubt, much less seek comfort in human weaknesses.

Prisca: [Besides, the fallacy your mouth uttered as a question, I will answer with another: when you finish reading a book… do you read it again hoping the ending will be different?]

Subaru: […What are you trying to understand?]

With a sigh loaded with irritation, Prisca looked him straight in the eyes, as if trying to extract an answer he didn’t want to give.

Prisca: [What this goddess is trying to understand is why you continue clinging to that miserable version of yourself. Aren’t you tired of acting with the same childish facade as always?]

Subaru: […]

Prisca: [You cry over the deaths of those who tried to kill you, as if in your mind existed the absurd idea that you could have led them down another path. But I remember well—and I am not mistaken—that most of the time you didn’t even try to speak to them. You simply eliminated them on the spot, without hesitation.]

Subaru: [That… that’s because—]

Prisca: [And don’t even try to justify yourself. Don’t forget that time you wished death upon someone you were trying to convince to change just minutes before. That contradiction of yours cannot be erased.]

He didn’t want to hear her.

Prisca: [Tell me, aren’t you tired of this farce you hide behind? —]

Stop.

Prisca: [—Because if you continue like this, sooner or later you will have to betray that mindset—]

Please, stop.

Prisca: [-so empty, yet you still insist on clinging—]

For heaven’s sake, stop already.

Prisca: [-desperately. Stop lying to yourself to—]

I beg you.

Subaru: [I ALREADY KNOW!]

The buildup of negative feelings that had been forming in every part of his body erupted into a loud scream, catching Prisca slightly off guard. Of course, she had to restrain himself as much as possible to avoid causing an awkward scene.

The scream was not merely impulsive; it was the result of all the pressure he had been holding until this moment, saying nothing, enduring in silence, bearing thoughts he had refused to face.

His throat hurt—not from the volume, but from everything he had been holding in that finally spilled out: frustration, exhaustion, anger, confusion, despair.

Subaru: [I get your point. I can perfectly understand what you’re trying to make me see! But… I don’t know what to do. Is it really as bad as I think? Do I really have to change, not because I want to, but because I’m forced to?]

The tone of his voice was broken, fragile, and tense. Despite the strength of his convictions, Subaru, though clearly emotionally unstable, remained steadfast, resisting every emotion that tried to destabilize him.

His determination was evident in every word, even when doubt and vulnerability pierced through him.

Subaru: [But you know I don’t want to change. I don’t crave people telling me what to do. I want to be this way; I like being kind to others, I’d love to change people, but…]

Prisca: […Not even your tiny brain has the capacity to channel the emotions in that head of yours.]

Subaru: […]

This time, with a serious gaze directed straight at her brother, she spoke words Subaru would never forget in his life.

Prisca: [Not everyone deserves forgiveness. Not every person you encounter on your path deserves your mercy. Not all carry their crimes because of trauma, nor do all seek chaos because they have been hurt. Sometimes, simply, evil is born with them. It is in the way they see the world, in the way they smile while others bleed.]

…

Nothing.

He felt nothing.

No emotions arose in his demeanor: no anger, no relief, no sadness. Nothing to indicate that anything was stirring inside.

Nor did a joke or sarcastic remark escape his mouth to break the awkward silence. No mocking glance, no forced smirk. He simply felt nothing.

He also made no effort to hide emotions to keep others from worrying about him. He didn’t bother disguising, nor resort to self-deception. Simply put, there was nothing to hide. Because, truly… he felt nothing.

His sister’s words from this world had no effect. He felt neither offended nor pleased. So why did he not react at all to such frivolous words?

…

Of course.

He understood. Even with his impulsive, naive mind, even now, he could grasp what Prisca meant. No. In truth, he already knew. He had always known. From the moment he killed his first assassin, he understood it with brutal clarity.

Not everyone deserves his mercy.

Some gazes do not seek redemption, some words are born to hurt, hearts that never beat with true humanity. And no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much he denied it, some people were simply beyond forgiveness.

It was at that moment he accepted that there are things that need no reaction. Because to react would be to grant them importance.

Prisca: [I’m not saying you should change your vain mindset…]

Subaru: [Huh…?]

Prisca: [You were thinking it, weren’t you? Changing your ideals. No matter how hard I try to make you understand, you are and will remain stubborn to the death.]

With Prisca’s sardonic tone further disturbing his thoughts, Subaru forced himself to endure the mocking comments she directed at him, limiting himself to silently observing the always-obstinate attitude he had shown so often.

Knowing it was useless to argue against her meticulous judgment, he contained any overt reaction, staying silent while carefully watching each of her expressions.

Taking advantage of her mockery, Prisca also cut off any trace of negative emotions that threatened to cloud her brother’s reasoning.

With the same coldness that always defined her, she forced him to focus on her and what she was about to show him. Her words, though laced with irony, carried a clear intention that Subaru could not ignore.

Prisca: [You thought that if you turned your ideals halfway, something would change, didn’t you? But no. No matter how much you try to dress it up, you remain the same reckless, impulsive… pathetic creature. You can change your mind with new decisions, but at the end of the day, you are still the same face, the same clumsy echo, only with another disguise. Two faces of the same coin don’t make the coin any different. It just flips. Just like your attitude.]

A fully reasoned truth hit Subaru’s eardrums like a high-speed cannon. Prisca’s words aligned completely with his own reflections, making the sting of harsh reality pierce him mercilessly, as if his already wounded mind had been waiting for this shot to finally collapse.

Like a roller coaster at full speed, the feelings and judgments inside him went up and down uncontrollably, denying him any respite to properly process his emotions. It was freefall, without warning, without harness.

Anguish, dressed in sudden clarity, snatched the ideas from his hands before he could give them form. Every conclusion led to another question, and every certainty was immediately demolished by an even fiercer doubt.

He didn’t know where to look, as his focus was more on stopping himself from being a bundle of nerves than on any external stimulus. Everything around him seemed veiled in a dirty, distorted fog, filtered through the heaviness of his own mind.

His eyes, lost among hazy thoughts, couldn’t focus properly where he wanted to look, giving him a more ghostly than human air.

The wine glass he held in the palm of his hand felt weightless. He didn’t feel it. As if, suddenly, he had completely lost his sense of touch.

A trivial object became the perfect symbol of his state: fragile, filled with something he didn’t fully understand, and about to spill with the slightest tremor.

With this in mind, his brain was more elsewhere than here. On the verge of breaking mentally, both from stress and from himself, the words that followed were more a metaphorical scream of despair than calculated speech.

Subaru: [So, what do you think I should do—stick to my ideals or erase them from my…]

He didn’t think. He just spoke. And not even from his chest, because even his chest seemed unable to support him. He felt vulnerable, painfully aware of himself and yet completely disconnected.

Prisca: [Even though my divine self is meant to dominate all the solutions this world has ever questioned, it is not my role to give you the answers.]

Prisca had made it clear: she was no heroine who would tell him where he should go, no guide explaining every aspect of life, leaving him the final word. She wanted him to find his own conclusions to the problems piling up in his mind.

It wasn’t out of disinterest, nor cruelty disguised as indifference. It was her way of pushing him toward the necessary abyss, the one he had to cross on his own feet, even if it hurt.

Prisca: [The only one who holds that verdict is you, and only you.]

Subaru: […]

A tense silence filled the space after that moment. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence; rather, it was the result of Subaru’s silent weeping and the bitter truth of Prisca’s ideals saturating every inch of the air. A space where Prisca allowed her brother to process his thoughts precisely and orderly.

From the conversation with Vincent, which left a bitter taste, to the eruption of emotions in front of Lamia and Prisca, to the ruthless, harsh reality she had recited to him, everything piled relentlessly in his mind.

He should be strong… no, he has to be strong. Strong to reach his goals. To have the strength to protect his few loved ones in this new world—both Arakiya and Prisca. He has to be strong for them, the only ones who have shown him kindness in this cruel world.

Not out of whim, not for cheap compassion, but for something far more valuable: they acted sincerely. And that… that made everything more difficult.

Because if he failed, he wouldn’t just lose his path; he would lose the only people who had sown a bit of light in the midst of his despair.

Prisca, with her cruel yet fair logic, with her way of crushing him with words always aimed at change. And Arakiya… her broken tenderness, her way of caring from a distance, her way of being without asking anything in return. Both, so different, so impossible, so necessary.

Subaru brought a hand to his face, covering his still-damp eyes. He felt the weight of that silence pushing him toward the abyss, yet at the same time, keeping him firm. It was that silence that wouldn’t let him escape. That forced him not to flee. Because fleeing would mean betraying not only them… but himself.

Examining his feelings, emotions, reasoning, and judgment, Subaru tried to reach a rational conclusion about the problem this entire conversation had stirred. He tried with all his might to think of a verdict that, at least, would help him manage his emotions in some way.

…

Subaru: [I really… I’ll think about it more carefully when we’re at the mansion.]

Yet he failed. His emotions seemed stronger than his reasoning, preventing him from organizing his thoughts clearly. That inner impulse left a bitter taste in his mouth, a sensation that wouldn’t disappear no matter how calmly he tried to breathe.

He needed to be calmer to decide anything. He acknowledged that, but for the moment, he would focus only on the present. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by possible scenarios or future consequences.

Prisca: [Hmph! Even when I, with all my infinite patience and charisma, prevented you from sinking into your delusions, you don’t even thank me. Seriously, your level of audacity knows no bounds.]

Suddenly cutting through the tense moment, Prisca began to mock Subaru deliberately, hinting without saying it outright that, although the end of their conversation hadn’t completely satisfied her, he had come quite close to reaching an agreement with himself.

And, of course, he, whether consciously or unconsciously, realized it.

Subaru: [Why did you sound like Vincent?! You were there acting like some cheap novel heroine! And now that I’m barely holding myself together, you come at me with free insults?! Make up your mind! Either you help me or you drag me down, but not both at the same time!]

Prisca: [Oh, please. What did you expect? A diploma for surviving your own existential crisis? My divine self was just supervising to make sure you didn’t do something foolish… though I admit, I was a little entertained watching you get tangled up on your own. It was like watching a chicken run around with its head cut off.]

Prisca, with a mocking tone, took advantage of the main problem her brother was struggling with and made fun of him. Playing along, with her mind a bit cooler than before, he decided to follow her lead.

The atmosphere, previously tense and bitter, had lightened somewhat due to the playful dialogue between brother and sister, easing a bit of the weight Subaru had been carrying moments earlier.

The words exchanged weren’t particularly deep or meant to resolve anything important, but their relaxed tone was enough to reduce the burden in his mind, even if only temporarily.

Subaru, still attentive, allowed himself to relax his gestures and breathe a little easier. It wasn’t that his worries had vanished, but in the midst of that interaction, facing them didn’t feel as urgent.

The tension that had dominated the room minutes earlier no longer felt so oppressive, and while the overall situation hadn’t changed, at least a small relief had appeared.

Prisca: [I swear, sometimes I feel like my divine self doesn’t understand how you can have such an inept attitude. Does your lack of self-love really drive you to act in such ridiculous ways just to get attention?]

Subaru: […Okay, that one was totally a free insult, huh? You didn’t even let me sit down before attacking me!]

Prisca: [Ha! Why hire a jester when I have my own brother, capable of making me lose patience anywhere?]

Subaru: [But stop ignoring me like that for no reason! If you keep this up, you’re going to make your handsome and fearless brother die from an overdose of “Priscamockiryna.” Don’t you see I need your attention?]

Prisca: [And here you go with your nonsense again. Seriously, sometimes it feels like this world was made to favor me, especially when I have to deal with a buffoon of your caliber.]

With childish yells that sounded more like a crying baby than actual shouting, the brother and sister maintained a calm and casual conversation, sitting in armchairs tucked away in the corner of the celebration.

Anyone observing from outside would likely think they were witnessing a poor child, looking remorseful for having been born, being ruthlessly verbally attacked by a perfectly groomed girl whose smile only accentuated the cruelty of her words.

Her firm and arrogant voice contrasted with his high-pitched, undignified tone, creating an awkward atmosphere that, to any eavesdropper, would be enough to make them reconsider staying. The people who caught fragments of their conversation—which, unfortunately for Subaru, was quite audible—looked on with a mix of discomfort and near indifference.

To them, however, it could not matter less. They continued their sharp exchanges and quick-witted responses as if they were the only ones in the room, completely indifferent to the cold stares and whispers surrounding them.

Subaru: [Even if it seems like what I always say is worthless nonsense, I, Dravien Benedict, affirm that every word I utter is carefully chosen and possesses the distinction worthy of the highest-ranking nobles!]

With one hand on his waist, the other pointing in the air, and a silly grin, he spoke louder than he should have, attracting even colder looks than those he had already received moments before.

Prisca: [Hmm… could it be that the wine my older brother offered you had, by pure chance, some sort of poison that makes you even more incompetent than usual?]

She glanced sideways at the small amount of wine left on the table in front of them. Subaru let out a small sigh, relaxing his arms and resting them back on the armchair.

Continuing their trivial conversation uninterrupted, they allowed themselves to unwind through a peaceful exchange of words. This contrasted sharply with all the reflection and introspection Subaru had gone through just minutes before. The atmosphere between them was calm, with an almost humorous tone.

About half an hour had passed since that tense moment at the appetizer table. The servants, attending to the few guests at the party, had already carefully cleaned the white marble floor where Subaru’s wine had spilled.

They even made sure everything was in perfect order, as if the incident had never happened, while the music and chatter of the other guests continued without giving the matter any importance.

Lamia, on the other hand—at least as he assumed—continued directing her soft, controlled voice toward anyone who approached her. She probably did so with the intention of subtly manipulating them, without their even realizing that, little by little, they were falling into a trap whose purpose not even he could discern.

Subaru: […] 

Frantically, he shook his head from side to side, trying to push those thoughts from the corner of his mind. He didn’t want to dwell on what had happened minutes ago or get tangled in negative ideas. At that moment, all he wanted was to focus on the present, without thinking about anything else.

Prisca: […] 

Subaru: [Huh…? What’s wrong, Prisca-tan?]

Noticing the absence of the usual arrogant tone his sister often carried as a habit, Subaru set aside his mediocre childish humor and observed her with curiosity, almost with a touch of concern. Prisca, suddenly, had fallen silent, which was not common for her.

It struck him as odd that she hadn’t seized the opportunity to respond as she always did to his last insult. Subaru was ready to counterattack, as he always did, but seeing his dear sister staring fixedly at the small crowd, an idea clicked in his mind.

The few people present on such an important day… Of course, it wasn’t that he had just realized it. Minutes earlier, during his conversation with his older brother, Vincent, he had also noticed the sparse attendance at the party.

He recognized it as unusual, considering he was the most popular person in the country. Yet he had decided it wasn’t urgent, leaving it aside.

Now, seeing Prisca not taking her eyes off the people around her, Subaru decided to pay closer attention, trying to understand exactly what she was evaluating or searching for in that scene.

…

His blood siblings.

It made sense that his siblings had also been invited by the Emperor; that surprised no one. According to what he remembered, the Emperor had spread his offspring throughout the empire, always seeking women with the strongest traits and attributes from every major village, town, and city in Vollachia.

If memory served him correctly, the total number of children he left behind was sixty-eight, scattered across the territory. However, over the years, circumstances and conflicts had reduced that number, and today only thirty-two remained alive, including him and Prisca.

But… why was this thought appearing now, at this very moment?

Examining the scene more closely, he noticed something curious: the number of siblings present in the hall far exceeded the usual number of guests. Clearly, something unusual was happening there.

He might not have known the Emperor very well, but from what he knew, he always, without excuses, sent letters to all his sons and daughters inviting them to celebrate his birthday.

Prisca: [It seems your pathetic self is finally starting to notice what’s going on here.]

She glanced at her brother, who was already analyzing the scene frantically.

Subaru: [Don’t mention it twice. At first, I thought it was a coincidence, but if you’re paying attention to this, it means this isn’t something to overlook.]

In a tone more serious than usual, Subaru confirmed to his sister the uniqueness of the event unfolding before them.

An Emperor’s party, where the number of his siblings greatly surpassed the rest of the guests… Could it be that the Emperor was planning something, or was it merely coincidence?

…

No. Prisca had confirmed it: this was planned.

With that in mind, Subaru sharpened his attention to everything around him. Something inside told him that something strange was about to happen. And if Prisca—his arrogant but perceptive sister—noticed that something was off, that alone was reason enough to stay alert.

Or at least to try to prepare as much as possible, even if deep down he knew that when the time came, perhaps nothing he did would be enough.

Prisca: [It would benefit your pathetic self if you put aside those pitiful negative thoughts. Someday, I’ll see your head, bloodied, severed on the floor.]

Subaru: [Y-Yes, I fe—]

Prisca: [Silence. I don’t want my divine ears to hear such a pathetic display of who you are.]

Subaru: [Sor—No… you’re right.]

Interrupting his negative thoughts, Prisca firmly intervened in the emotions consuming him, advising him to focus on more important matters. Though it wasn’t easy, Subaru decided to obey, setting aside all that was weighing him down, tucking those emotions into a corner of his mind for the moment so he could concentrate on what truly demanded his attention.

Subaru: [I need to be capable, if it’s to avoid seeing those worried faces again…]

Prisca, still observing the sparse crowd, turned her head toward him and sharpened her gaze the moment she heard that ambiguous remark, as if seeking confirmation in his expression.

However, she chose to remain silent. Though Subaru had spoken the words in a whisper, almost inaudible, his distracted mind—burdened by the weight of uncertainty—committed the small slip of vocalizing his thoughts aloud.

Prisca: [I assert that, right now, your paranoia should already be exceeding the common limit of a fool.]

Cutting any trace of seriousness from the atmosphere, Prisca looked at her brother with mockery, teasing him for once again letting paranoia take hold.

Subaru: [It’s not paranoia! What I’m doing is a full mental reconnaissance, checking every corner of the room, looking for anyone who might try to harm us, even if they haven’t done anything wrong yet.]

Prisca: [Hmm… excellent definition of that word. If you keep going down this path, you might even surpass your own stupidity, which, in itself, is already quite remarkable.]

Attempting to justify his actions, Subaru, in a clumsy attempt to defend himself from her mockery, only managed to sink further into his own mistake, feeling even more embarrassed by his inadequate and awkward words.

And, of course, Prisca didn’t waste a single second of this opening.

Prisca: [Hmph! I don’t even understand why you bother analyzing this event, when in the end, everyone ends up bending to my will. I’m completely sure something is about to happen that will be most entertaining.]

Subaru: […Why do you always have to make everything revolve around you?]

Prisca: [Ha! My naive brother, the reason is simple: everything does revolve around me. The sooner you accept it, the fewer disappointments you’ll face.]

Subaru: [Why would I be disappointed by something that mainly happens to you?! For starters, I—]

…

The murmurs of the guests gradually faded. What had initially been an atmosphere full of merriment, diplomacy, and simulated calm began to grow heavier. A sense of unease spread, as if everyone silently understood that something out of the ordinary was about to occur.

The musicians, who until then had provided a festive air, abruptly stopped playing, leaving their instruments in absolute silence.

All attention focused on a single point. But why had everyone, without exception, suddenly gone silent?

The answer appeared just as Subaru was about to open his mouth to defend himself against Prisca. The grand main door of the hall burst open with a force that reverberated through the entire room.

It was no ordinary slam; it was a roar felt in every corner. Whoever had entered so forcefully had done so neither carelessly nor by chance. That entrance was designed to stop everything.

Immediately, all eyes turned toward the doorway. The cause of the commotion strode forward with firm, confident steps, advancing without haste but with the unmistakable clarity that every movement was being observed. He walked with an almost disturbing calm, as if the entire hall already belonged to him. With each step, the air grew denser, and the tension, already strong, multiplied.

His silhouette stood out without need for embellishment. The very way he carried himself radiated authority, and his presence commanded absolute respect. No words were necessary; his mere existence was enough to bend the environment to his will.

No living being could avert their gaze from him, yet none dared to stare directly for too long.

As he continued walking, his crimson eyes scanned the hall with meticulous, almost surgical precision. He didn’t look randomly; he didn’t observe out of mere curiosity—he analyzed every detail, every corner, every person. The echo of his steps became the only sound in the vast hall, making the silence feel unbearably oppressive.

What was truly astonishing wasn’t just his overwhelming presence or the weight he imposed upon the atmosphere from the moment he stepped in. What truly struck everyone occurred the instant he arrived: all present, without exception, dropped to their knees.

There was no resistance, no hesitation. As if by automatic instinct, bodies bent toward the floor, heads lowering partially in his direction, and the entire room fell into a unified reverence.

That uniform, absolute gesture made it clear that the figure who had just entered was no ordinary person. No orders were given, and yet all obeyed. The weight of his authority asserted itself without words, and in that moment, the entire hall witnessed an unquestionable truth: this man was not merely respected; he was feared.

The Emperor of the Sacred Vollachia Empire, Drizen Vollachia, had arrived.

Chapter Text

The oppression that emanated from him was, without a doubt, unbearable.

That was the unanimous judgment, instinctively shared by all those present, from the deepest corners of their minds. Even the strongest of them, those who seemed unshakable, found themselves unable to keep processing the chain of events that had just burst into the place.

It was as if something primal within each of them had reacted on its own, a natural process that was triggered the very moment they understood who was the cause of the uproar that had opened the door.

Animals, even the simplest and clumsiest ones, possess a survival instinct that makes them react faster than their minds can reason. They act first, and think later. Lizards that shed their tails to flee, birds that display bright colors to ward off predators. That reaction, no matter how basic it may seem, is the line between life and death.

And the guests of that event, whether weak or strong, were not exempt from that same instinct. From childhood they had been taught a cruel truth: no matter how much effort you devote to your goals or how high you manage to rise, there will always be something that towers above all.

The Emperor of Vollachia. He is, and shall remain, the absolute priority, the impossible summit that crushes all else beneath its shadow.

…

His deliberate footsteps resounded throughout the hall like muffled explosions. Each sharp strike of his boots seemed to rebound against the walls and multiply within the absolute silence that surrounded him. And since no other sound existed—neither a foreign breath nor a hidden murmur—that echo only heightened the weight of his march.

His sharp crimson eyes shifted from corner to corner, scanning every detail, analyzing each crack and shadow with precision, as though within them lay a secret meant to be revealed only to him.

From his crown flowed a long, wavy mane of white hair, cascading down past his shoulders. It was not just a physical trait, but a visible reminder of his passage through time, of the experience accumulated that made him seem more than a mere man.

That hair, both brilliant and chaotic, bestowed upon him a majestic air, as if he had stepped directly out of a forgotten myth.

But unlike those stories trapped within ancient pages, he was there—flesh and blood, in the middle of that vast hall, real and undeniable.

…

Stopping right at the center of the grand hall, none of those present dared, not even faintly, to utter a sound before his presence. The air grew heavy, suffocating, as though every breath demanded additional effort.

Most of the guests sweated uncontrollably, their fabrics and leathers clinging uncomfortably to their skin, revealing the tension that gnawed at every fiber of their bodies. Even the strongest in spirit could not suppress the feeling of uncertainty that emanated from him.

Subaru, too, belonged to that same category.

Drizen: [So it would seem the guests on mine own natal day have not squandered their time, after all.]

A deep voice, as grave as the weight of the word itself, thundered through the great hall, dragging along with it an unceasing echo that seemed to prolong without rest, increasing the tension of the moment.

He did not need to raise his voice to impose himself; it was enough that absolute silence reigned, so that each syllable spoken felt stronger, deeper.
That voice pierced through the ears of the people, sinking into their very bones, awakening an unavoidable sense of submission, as if each word demanded immediate obedience. Such was the magnitude of his presence.

Drizen: [Yet…]

Ensuring that all had clearly grasped his words, Drizen, despite his nearly unshakable expression, allowed the faintest trace of displeasure to form upon his face. Curiously, it was not an irritation aimed at the crowd, for they were fulfilling perfectly what was expected of them: to revere His Excellency with proper homage.

The cause of that bitter emotion came from a detail insignificant to anyone else, yet unforgivable to him. Barely moments after his entrance, one of the musicians of the celebration had the misfortune of failing to notice his presence in time.

While the rest kneeled in submission, that unlucky one did so a second too late, clumsily, nearly tripping over his own feet. To worsen his blunder further, in his haste he dropped his instrument, causing a brief yet noticeable crash that shattered the harmony of the scene.

Drizen: [Thou, come hither.]

His Excellency summoned the clumsy musician with an authoritative voice that, moments before, had been entangled in his own disorder. The tone was so dry and commanding that the order could not possibly be ignored. It was clear: if he failed to obey what was about to be commanded, he would not live to tell of it the next day.

For this reason, without giving space to hesitation, the poor man ceased prostrating himself and began to move forward with the semblance of calm that his desperate body could still sustain.

Although… calling it calm would be an exaggeration.

With so much oppression emanating from that presence, and with the weight of the nation’s ruler summoning him directly, his legs barely managed to hold him. He staggered in a hurried gait, as if each movement were an inner struggle between advancing and collapsing.

He resembled more a quivering jelly set upon trembling ground, shaking with every step as the distance between him and His Excellency grew shorter and inescapable.

seemed to surge from the most primitive depths of his being, could do nothing but immediately prostrate himself before him.

Drizen: [The small hecatomb that thy person hath provoked through thine imprudence hath disturbed the stillness of this place.]

Drizen’s voice made it more than clear: he was displeased.

No. displeased was far too little.
He was enraged.

The silence that followed those words was, without a doubt, suffocating. With every passing second, the air of the hall grew denser, as though the very atmosphere conspired to sink him deeper into his own misery.

He wanted to speak—oh, how he longed at least to utter a sound. An apology. An excuse. A scream. It mattered little what escaped his vocal cords; if with it he could respond to His Excellency, it would suffice.

Drizen: [Didst thou truly believe thy clumsiness would pass unseen? Or didst thou think to stain the peace and harmony of this place without suffering any consequence?]

Drizen: [Not even thine enfeebled body can muster a wretched apology. Dost thou truly pretend to call thyself part of the Empire? Or did perchance that dung-heap within thy skull, in place of a brain, make thee believe that, being a musician, even the flies would hold thee in esteem?]

The trembling of his body was evident, and with every word Drizen drove the poor musician deeper into despair, so much so that he could barely remain standing. There was no way to defend himself, neither physically nor verbally.

He had to endure. With wet eyes and suffocating heat burning across his cheeks, the musician knew he was at his limit. Sweat slid slowly down his forehead, as though marking the countdown of an inevitable fate. But no, he could not yield. Not here. Not now. His future as a musician could not end in such a miserable fashion.

Drizen: [Pathetic. Behold thyself… thou art an ignominy unto these lands. Thy very existence is an anomaly within these walls.]

Musician: […]

Drizen: [One single glance sufficeth to see thou lackest any manner of martial quality. I daresay that feeble frame of thine could not wield a sword for even an hour, could it?]

The tone of his voice was steeped in visceral disgust. In his gaze there was no man, no artist… only a repulsive creature, something sprung from a wretched tale of horror. It was evident: he despised the weak. Those who could not defend themselves.

Drizen: [“O citizens of the Empire, be strong.” That is the simple creed of our land. Easy enough to follow, is it not? Then why hadst thou the audacity to set even a single foot here?]

Say something.

That was the only thought that crossed his mind. And yet, while his brain desperately searched for a way to react, his body refused to obey. Not a muscle. Not a movement.

His throat burned as though barbed wire were coiled tight around his neck, constricting and digging with malice into every fiber. Each sting was a cruel reminder that words were forbidden.

Drizen: [Not even an apology? Canst thou not give me so much as a pitiful explanation, hm?]

The blend of disappointment and disdain in his voice struck with such force that it resounded in his ears like an unrelenting echo. He could not hear everything clearly, but he felt it: something was about to happen. Something that would change everything.

A shiver ran down his skin. The hairs of his arms stood on end, and his head began to throb violently, as if his very body sought to warn him of the imminent danger.

Drizen: [Rise.]

The musician’s heart leapt. The command sounded simple—too simple—but in that atmosphere laden with tension, it felt as though he had been asked to hurl himself naked into a lake filled with witchbeasts. His pounding mind spun out of control, accelerating violently and feeding the fear and uncertainty that had been consuming him all along.

Even so, he obeyed. His instincts screamed that he remain motionless, clinging to the ground like a coward, but his judgment reminded him of something far harsher: if he failed to heed His Excellency’s command, it would be his death sentence.

Thus, gathering the few scraps of strength he still possessed, he tried to stand. His knees trembled like rotten jelly, his vision blurred, and a suffocating heat emanated from his body—almost unbearable, as though fever were devouring him alive. Yet, even with all those hindrances, he managed to recover himself and rise to his feet.

He succeeded. At least that command he could fulfill. And in his mind, amidst all the chaos, there appeared an absurd, almost childish thought: if he endured that rebuke and managed not to draw further attention, perhaps, just perhaps, His Excellency would lose interest in him.
Then, after that nightmare masquerading as a feast, he could return home to his mother, care for her as he had always done. Perhaps he would pause to buy her flowers… simple flowers, nothing luxurious, yet enough to make her smile. Or perhaps…

Musician: [Eh…?]

The thread of his thought snapped. He felt dizzy… no, that was not quite the right word. What he was experiencing went beyond that. Was his head spinning? Perhaps… or perhaps not. Truth be told, he was certain of nothing.

The only certainty was that the entire world seemed to have lost its axis, that up, down, left, and right had merged into an indecipherable tangle. His body felt stupidly light.

No… wait, light was not the correct word; something was missing, yes? Yes… something was missing… but what exactly? He felt a strange emptiness beneath his own head, as if someone had cruelly torn something essential from within. And worst of all, he could not recognize what, nor how, nor why.
…

Before he could even comprehend his condition, a sharp blow resounded against him. The sting on his right cheek made him reel more than he already was, dismantling his thoughts and sending them spiraling downward, unable to halt.

But that mattered not, not now. He had to endure a little longer, and then he would emerge from this torment. To endure was all that remained, and in that endurance, he clung to the sole idea that kept him standing: his mother. Soon he would see her again, soon he could hear her voice once more. All of this he did for her. Yes, all was for Mother. All I do I for my mother. For my mother. For my mother. For my mother…

Drizen: […]

He observed with meticulous attention the corpse that lay but a few steps from him. Not once did he blink; he scarcely let slip a sigh, one laden with a disappointment far too palpable.
Perhaps he might have wished to prolong its agony, to see that wretched husk of a human writhe beneath his hand… yet, upon reflection, he understood that such a pestilence deserved not even the privilege of lingering longer upon his lands.

To end its pitiful existence was, in every sense, the most fitting course.

But what, in truth, had transpired?

All was resolved in but a single instant. With one swift motion, and without pause for thought, His Excellency—ere the man could even rise—moved his hand to his hip. From thence he drew the sword, secured by a strap fastened tightly around his waist.

In a movement as precise as it was brutal, he severed the head with absolute exactitude, tearing tendons, muscles, and even the spine as if they were mere sheets of paper.

The body, already weakened, had shown signs of frailty, yet Drizen’s motions remained firm, swift, and resolute, as befits the ruler of the Empire.

Drizen: [Not even thou, who hath infected these lands, possessest the power to leave within me so much as a single shred of delight.]

He spoke not to those present, nor to the corpse, nor to any particular soul. ’Twas merely he, thinking aloud, letting slip the bitter notion that a creature of that sort should have had the misfortune to sully this nation with its existence.

The head, now lifeless, rolled upon the floor, and Drizen raised his gaze to the servants who had witnessed the spectacle in silence. None showed signs of terror; for them, such a sight was no marvel. Nearly each day they contended with the same bloody routine.
Without further word, the servants walked with slow yet certain step to where the body lay.

Drizen: [Bear the body unto the crematorium.]

A simple command issued from his lips, and the servants, wasting no time, lifted the corpse toward the great hall. As they carried it, small droplets of blood marked the floor along their path. The white marble made the stains stand out all the more, leaving an evident trail of what had occurred moments before.

Drizen: [Hmmm…?]

He diverted his gaze to the servants’ path, following that ruddy trail with boredom until it halted upon something that caught his notice. The marble near the hors d’oeuvres table gleamed whiter than usual, as if it had been scrubbed clean but recently.

Drizen narrowed his eyes, deducing the obvious: something had occurred there ere he himself entered the hall.

Though he cared not to waste his time upon details he deemed trivial, his curiosity ultimately prevailed. And, seizing the occasion of his birthday, he resolved to indulge a small whim.
A single fixed glance directed at a servant, who stood apart from all else, sufficed to make her understand her expected course. She approached with cautious steps, placing herself before him.

Drizen: [A notable event hath transpired upon the table of canapés, hath it not? Speak, tell me who was responsible.]

This wasn’t a question, but an order. The servant comprehended instantly, bowing in submission before answering in a tone devoid of feeling.

Servant: [Dravien Benedict, of the house of Benedict, was the cause of the incident, Your Excellency. He spilt wine upon the floor whilst conversing with Lamia Godwin, of the house of Godwin.]

The servant’s voice broke the silence, and immediately Drizen turned his gaze to Subaru without a moment’s delay.

Subaru: [Ghk?!]

An involuntary groan of surprise escaped Subaru’s lips, breaking for a brief instant the dominion of silence. Fortunate for him, the sound was so faint that only Prisca perceived it.

She too knelt before His Excellency, her face hardened into absolute seriousness. Yet she could not help but glance at her brother, observing with irritation how he had allowed the tension of the moment to sway him.

No words were required; a mere look conveyed her reprimand, demanding he cease his feebleness.

Subaru immediately understood his sister’s silent message and, with some awkwardness, straightened his posture, forcing himself to regain composure ere any other might notice his error.
Despite this, a chill coursed through him. Not from the hall’s temperature, but from the weight of the pressure pressing upon him.

His knees began to tremble, and each breath grew heavier and shorter. Sweat ran down his skin and soaked his garments, producing an unbearable discomfort.

Subaru: [Damn it… I will not speak to that man again.]

He had done it before. It had been a terrible experience, too much for him.
In that encounter, he had committed an impulsive act right before him, and Drizen, in his wrath, had seized him by the neck…

…

No, better not. He did not even wish to bring those memories to mind.

Slowly, Subaru sank into a feeling of uncertainty and fear that left him trapped within his own thoughts. His doubts accumulated to the point where it became difficult for him even to remain focused on what was happening around him. It was then that a powerful voice shattered the silence, forcing him out of his confusion.

Drizen: [Guests who have attended on this day of my nativity…]

He let his imposing voice rise through the grand hall, resonating firmly in every corner, immediately capturing the attention of all present. The guests, who had before seemed distracted or lost in their own musings, ceased their thoughts to direct their focus upon him, aware that what he was about to say bore special weight upon the occasion.

Drizen: […hear me well, for my person shall tolerate no further uncivil act within this hall. Every gesture, every word, escapes not my attention.]

He allowed his weighty words to nestle in the ears of the people.

Drizen: [Let none of you distort what hath transpired. I am here with you to solemnize this day, indeed. But not to endure insolences such as these.]

He pointed his finger toward the entrance of the grand hall, also revealing how the path of blood remained visible there.

Ceasing his gesture, Drizen immediately turned his gaze upon Subaru once more.

He averted his eyes from Subaru, folding his arms with an air of apparent boredom, yet laden with crushing authority toward all others present. The silence of the hall intensified under the weight of his voice.

Drizen: [Leaving behind the insignificant and trivial mishap that hath just occurred, I shall proceed.]

He cleared his throat, straightened his back, and scanned each of the attendees with his gaze, ensuring that none dared avert their eyes. The tension was suffocating; even the very act of breathing seemed restrained.

Drizen: [Today ye are gathered here because this day is no ordinary one. We are not here by mere protocol, but because this day commemorates how a single individual was able to conquer in the Imperial Rite, and ascend from naught to nobility, until he attained the station of the seventy-sixth Emperor of the Sacred Vollachia Empire… my person.]

Raising his right hand to his chest, Drizen released a contained, low, and rough laugh that conveyed not joy, but twisted pride. His mouth forced itself into a rigid smile, as if each gesture were but confirmation of what he had achieved.

Drizen: [Your duty, as is mine, is to uphold the foundations of this Empire. What hath been built admits neither weakness nor indulgence. Each of you must comprehend this, for your existence gains meaning only under this obligation.]

From his words emanated evident arrogance, reducing those present to mere replaceable pieces. Lives that served for nothing more than to sweat, bleed, and bear burdens in the name of the Empire.

Drizen: [From the Counts of lowest degree, whose voices are barely heard beyond their own dominions, to the Counts of greatest rank, whose influence may shake entire regions, all, without exception, hold an essential role that may neither be diverted nor abandoned.]

The point was clear: no matter how insignificant they seemed to others, each present was destined to fulfill a decisive function for the stability of the Empire.

Drizen: [And if among you there be those who doubt their fitness for such responsibility, my person, despite the atrocity it represents, may yet show sufficient benevolence to leave open the doors to those who, blinded by fear, dare not uphold this duty.]

With a smile colder than the last, Drizen, in a tone of twisted humor, issued an invitation that sounded more like mockery than courtesy: anyone who did not feel worthy to stand before him might withdraw from the scene.

This was no gesture of kindness, far from it, but a clear trap. His true intent was to discern those who doubted themselves, and thereafter remove those he deemed dispensable, all veiled under cynical, calculated humor.

The attendees immediately understood that his “offer” was naught but a façade to conceal his true intent. And though none spoke aloud, all felt the same weight: that forced jest was neither merry nor light.

Drizen: [Hmmm…? Now that my person, laying aside masks and showing true gentleness, hath offered, doth none wish to ratify my gracious gift? Verily, ye all are a plague in body and soul.]

After those words, heavy with firmness, the silence of the grand hall was shattered by a hoarse laughter that spread with relentless echo, reminding all of the feared voice of the Emperor of Vollachia. The cackle resounded powerfully, at first tinged with mockery, but slowly decayed until it vanished in a dry and harsh tone.

At that instant, what remained was only the expression of the man behind the laughter: a hard, cold, and unhinged gaze, the same that had marked his reputation long before.

Drizen: [Summoning solemnity…]

He cleared his throat with a brief, deliberate cough, allowing the silence to stretch for a few seconds.

Drizen: [On this day, on this marked date, my person, the seventy-sixth emperor of Vollachia, commemorates his nativity. Only he, and none other, shall bear the weight of such an honor. Ye who stand before my presence are naught but fleeting amusement, a minor diversion that my person tolerates but for moments.]

He paused, as if calmly measuring the effect of his words upon those present. He reduced the guests to mere fleeting entertainment in his eyes, revealing how little they mattered in the realm of amusement.

Drizen: [Bow… bow without delay, for my benevolent person grants thee the grace to prolong thy wretched existences for one more day.]

His voice broke for an instant into a cold murmur, only to return with harsh authority.

Drizen: [And though this day should serve to venerate my greatness, I perceive that the atmosphere of this place lacks the brilliance it ought to possess. It is dim… and such languor is intolerable to me.]

Then, he fixed his gaze once more upon Dravien. In that instant, his eyes began to shine with a distinct intensity—a clear sign that an idea had just taken form in his mind. That simple change in his look was enough to make Subaru sweat anew, feeling his body react with unbearable discomfort.

Drizen: [Dravien…]

A summons. A mere call from his “father” was enough to make the hairs on Subaru’s arms stand on end. The voice reverberated in his head with a piercing force that left him stunned. His mind suddenly felt dizzy, as if all the air had been snatched away and his body’s energy crumbled without warning.

The only thing keeping him upright, the sole thing preventing him from collapsing there and then, was the firm and comforting presence of his sister Prisca, a support stronger than any word for him.

Drizen: […thy insolence shall not go unanswered. As punishment, thy pitiful person shall fetch thy tambourines and play music upon this stage. Do it now, and show at least a modicum of valor in this wretched life.]

An order as clear as a sharp blow lodged itself in Subaru’s ears. Without a second’s hesitation, he abandoned his kneeling position and forced himself to rise, stepping away from Prisca’s side. His gait was firm, as if each step were a demand of resistance against the imposed humiliation. His face was hardened, contorted into an unreadable expression—a fragile wall erected to conceal what he truly felt.

Drizen: [My person grants thee the opportunity to taste the delectable fare of the most singular of my magirists. Partake… partake of these delights. That your pitiful lives shall encounter naught like them.]

While Drizen continued with his speech, Subaru moved slowly through the grand hall until he reached the theater. The musicians who had previously played with enthusiasm now remained motionless, as if their lives depended upon not stirring for a single moment.

Turning his head slightly, Subaru saw the trail of blood stretching toward the door, a raw reminder of the massacre that had occurred moments before. A deep unease swept over him as he beheld it. His stomach churned, causing sharp pain that nearly brought him to vomit.

Subaru: [I’m sorry… I wish I could do more.]

It was an irrational thought, yes. But for Subaru, the death of any person, good or ill, stirred a feeling of guilt in his naïve heart. A discomfort born from the absurd notion that, thanks to his damned ability, he might have saved the life lost.

He wished to protect them, even if he did not know them, even if he knew nothing of them. He only wished to save them. That indecision consumed him, gnawed at him from within, leaving him incapable of finding peace.

Yet, for that, he would have to relive it all again. The conversation with Prisca. His dispute with Vincent. The confrontation with Lamia. Even Prisca’s harsh but sincere words that pushed him forward.

He would remember every detail, every moment, every emotion… but none of them would. He would remain utterly alone, and that was something he hated more than anything. The idea of facing it all with no one by his side filled him with a void he did not know how to endure.

…

He could not bear for it all to repeat, for the cycle of death and pain to continue before his eyes. And yet, he knew he could do nothing at that moment, trapped between the desire to intervene and the reality that left him powerless.

Thus, with a pain that only he—and perhaps Prisca—could understand, he took the vihuela the deceased musician had played just minutes before. It was slightly scuffed, likely from the sudden blow when his “father” had barged into the hall, but it still appeared in good condition.

Though not a guitar like the one he had used in his previous life, Subaru still knew perfectly well how to handle it.

Subaru: [Though I enjoy playing the vihuela, I shall not have the chance to be beside Prisca-tan today.]

As the guests took their seats at the table, he could not help but cast a solemn gaze upon the scene. He was meant to be seated beside his sister at this very moment, yet, due to his careless demeanor, some troublesome affair always seemed to unfold around him.

His stomach growled, chiefly because he had not eaten since the afternoon, believing he would sate himself at the table, yet that very sensation also reminded him of his present station.

At this moment, he was not Dravien Benedict, pillar of the house of Benedict. He was naught but a musician, playing for the celebration of His Excellency, one who must fulfill his role without drawing attention, whilst observing from a corner all that had once seemed natural to him.

Subaru: [Damn it, I’m starving!]

The sound of his stomach rumbled with an impossible-to-ignore force. The sensation of emptiness completely overtook him, and it was no wonder: after having played the vihuela alongside the music group prepared for the celebration, and standing there for over an hour, his body demanded sustenance immediately.

As he pondered the absurdity of the situation, his gaze drifted toward the main table, situated some distance away.

There was his sister Prisca, who with elegant movements seemed to claim the table as her own. To her left sat Vincent, his half-brother, wearing the same apathetic and serious expression as always; yet, in his eyes shone a faint glimmer of amusement whenever he listened to Prisca speak. At the other end was Lamia, displaying the same false smile she had directed at Subaru hours earlier.

From what he observed, whenever Prisca tried to speak, Lamia found an opportunity to interrupt her. Subaru suspected she did it to annoy her, as he could clearly see the trace of irritation on his sister’s face each time Lamia intruded into the conversation with Vincent.

He recalled that in previous birthdays of the emperor, he had always sat next to Prisca. That had the effect of keeping Lamia more restrained than usual. Perhaps she knew that with Subaru present she could not act the same way, or she simply did not dare.

Now, however, she seemed to enjoy provoking Prisca, almost as if she did it for mere whim or amusement.

Subaru: [Though, come to think of it, sooner or later she would become my enemy.]

Reflecting on what had transpired, he could not imagine a scenario in which Lamia had never sought him in that moment of vulnerability, right before the snack table. If she had not done so then, it was most likely that she would continue to play the role of the kind and affectionate stepsister, hiding everything else behind a carefully maintained facade.

Prisca, on the other hand, would always insist that it was nothing but manipulation, that from the beginning Lamia had been moving him like another piece in her game. In that sense, it was inevitable that sooner or later they would end up as enemies.

Subaru: [I don’t know if it’s better that she be my enemy now… but I suppose now is better than never, isn’t it?]

Unable to find an answer to soothe himself, Subaru let out a frustrated sigh, knowing he was merely postponing the inevitable.

Tilting his head to the side, his gaze fell upon the other band members. Those people, even after so many hours, still wore faces too pale, almost sickly. Perhaps they were not warriors like those he was accustomed to seeing, which would explain how vulnerable they seemed at that moment.

Most likely, they had remained like that since His Excellency entered the hall with that clamor that shattered the calm of the place. All of them, Subaru included, remained cornered on the edge of the stage, daring not to take a step or draw attention.

The makeshift band had ceased playing several minutes ago, and the silence felt heavier than usual.

Subaru: [Hey guys, how’s it going for you at this great celebration?]

Trying to ease the discomfort of the atmosphere, Subaru attempted to start a conversation with the musicians beside him, hoping they would also take the initiative to keep the dialogue going.
Upon hearing his voice, the band members immediately tensed.

All their attention turned toward Subaru, as if nothing else mattered at that moment. They tried to utter some words, but fell silent, stuck, as if suddenly unable to speak.

Flautist: [W-Well, your prince… enjoying this fair and fabulous afternoon.]

The flautist’s tone was clearly nervous, nearly bordering on fear. As soon as he realized a member of the imperial family was addressing him, he could not help but imagine the consequences if he did not answer properly.

The others, still gripped by the same fear, also attempted to reply with the utmost sobriety they could muster, though not entirely successfully. Nervousness was evident: sweat ran down their faces, and their stiff gestures betrayed the worst thoughts running through their minds.

Subaru: [Oh, come on, lads. I swear I don’t bite. I, Dravien Benedict, promise you that—]

Drizen: [Dravien.]

The sound of his voice struck directly into everyone’s ears, with a force that compelled them to feel it throughout their entire bodies. Immediately, without hesitation, Subaru and the band knelt in a gesture of submission. There was no wavering in that act.

The instruments they held fell to the floor with muffled thuds, momentarily breaking the silence. No one, not even Subaru, had realized at what moment Drizen had advanced to stand before them, firm and with a presence impossible to ignore.

The atmosphere became stifling. The silence weighed too heavily, each second seeming longer than the last. Subaru could feel his own heart pounding in his head, as if every beat pushed him to the brink of collapse.

And if he, accustomed to dealing with tense moments, was in such a state, he could not even imagine what passed through the minds of the others, who clearly had no experience in situations where life could be decided in an instant.

Drizen: [Follow me.]

The order was simple, direct, impossible to ignore. Without adding a single word more, he turned with the same firmness with which he had arrived and began walking toward the main door. His steps set the rhythm of the place, and with each movement, he left an increasingly uncomfortable feeling in those who remained behind.

The band looked at each other, shaking their heads from side to side, their faces displaying complete bewilderment. They didn’t know who the order was meant for. They hesitated, unsure whether everyone should stand and follow him or if it had been intended only for Subaru. The confusion was as evident as the nervousness reflected on their faces.

One of the band members was about to make the mistake of standing to follow him. His nerves betrayed him, and he completely forgot who had been called in the first place: Dravien.

Aware of this, and not wanting to witness another mishap during this meeting, Subaru raised his hand toward the person moving, making a clear signal for him to stop.

Subaru: [He spoke to me. You’d better stay in your place.]

Halting his actions, Subaru firmly warned the musician who was about to rise. Then, he stopped bowing and began walking with determined steps toward His Excellency, who was already near the main door.

The emperor’s face clearly showed the impatience that consumed him. Noticing this, Subaru quickened his pace, trying to reach as quickly as possible the place where he was awaited.

Subaru: [What does this man want now? I hope it’s not another one of those punishments… not like last time.]

Uncertainty, mixed with fear, gripped his body, yet he couldn’t stop thinking about why the Emperor of Vollachia had called him, and him alone. As he tried to organize his thoughts, he watched the servants open the large doors on both sides, leaving a clear passage for him to walk through.

This time, although fear was still present, his mind was more resolute. He knew he had to endure whatever the governor of this empire might demand of him.

He did it not only for himself but also for the few people who had shown him the kindness he had so long sought in his life.

Chapter Text

Drizen: [Thy prowess with the instrument of the vihuela shall indeed bring certain delight unto mine own person. There existeth not the faintest hint of doubt that thy skill may well be likened unto that of the most preeminent musicians mine ears have beheld throughout the span of my life.]

Dravien: [Thank you very much for such generous words, Your Excellency, I swear that—]

Drizen: [Silence! Mine own person doth not recall any moment wherein I granted thee leave to reply unto that which I have spoken.]

Seeking to soften, even if only slightly, the tense atmosphere that ruled that space, Subaru lowered his head and expressed his gratitude for those positive words—a rare display from the mouth of the Governor of that Empire.

Yet Drizen wasted no time in reprimanding him harshly, marking clearly the hierarchical distance between them.

With remorse weighing upon his body for that mistake, Subaru—or rather in this moment, Dravien—tilted his head involuntarily to the left. He did not wish to meet His Excellency’s gaze directly, for those prominent crimson eyes seemed to demand of him an immediate answer he was not yet prepared to give.

Drizen: [Mine own person, no matter how sagacious, always findeth cause for reflection in the multitude who dare show insolence or lack of respect toward me. Such transgressions shall not be tolerated, regardless of age nor lineage.]

Dravien: […]

Drizen: [Yet that is not the matter upon which mine own person and thee must contend this day.]

Turning upon his heel, Drizen gave his back to Dravien and strode firmly toward a solitary chair standing in the corner of the chamber.

The room was small, to say the least. At first glance, it appeared old-fashioned compared to the other spaces of the Crystal Palace, the grand castle that dominated the capital of Vollachia. The walls lacked maintenance and paint, the ceiling showed such evident decay that one might think it could collapse at any moment, and the floor, grayish and layered with dust, gave the impression of neglect.

The only “remarkable” feature of the place was the large rectangular wooden table set against one of the walls, occupying much of the space and granting some sense of order to the environment.
It did not seem a chamber meant for rest or daily use, but rather a functional space, closer to something suited for an interrogation.

Despite all these defects, Drizen paid them no mind. His concern lay not in the imperfections of the place, but in what was about to unfold.

Drizen: [Mine own person desireth to inquire of thee, Dravien. Tell me, for what cause or reason dost thou think mine own person hath summoned thee unto this place?]

While posing the question to Dravien, Drizen calmly settled into his chair. The atmosphere in the room began to grow more oppressive, heavy with a weight that became ever more palpable.

The seat upon which he now rested—at first no more than a piece of furniture—seemed gradually to transform into a symbol of authority and dominion. Though far from a true throne, it projected a presence sufficient to be perceived as such.

Dravien felt the pressure force him to swallow with difficulty. Drizen’s unwavering gaze left him no space to breathe, and yet he had to answer, though his voice barely managed to assert itself amid the tension.

Dravien: [Because of the incident near the refreshments table, perhaps?]

Drizen: [With what befell at that table of canapés, it was but a matter of time ere thy pitiful mind reached so simple a conclusion.]

Closing one eye and fixing the other squarely upon Dravien, he let out a sigh heavy with frustration, for that answer struck him as incoherent and senseless before him.

Drizen: [Nay. Not for such an event. That matter beareth no weight in the duty that is here imposed.]

Drizen: [Perchance, in comparing thy brain with that of a Mabeast, hath thy memory been erased of what transpired but a few minutes past?]

Dravien: [You are absolutely right, Your Excellency. You have already punished me by forcing me to play the vihuela on stage before everyone, as a display of my incompetence and neglect.]

He inclined his torso slightly forward, a gesture that made clear he sought to convey apology or regret.

Even so, he could not prevent the drops of sweat gathered on his brow from sliding down and falling onto the cold, dusty floor beneath.

Drizen: [If thou hast already made it plain in thy mind, then why doth thy venomous mouth persist in uttering inconsistent words? Is this not yet another proof of thy weakness and thy lack of judgment as an individual?]

This time, he could not help but clench his jaw tightly at that question laden with sarcasm. It was not out of anger nor sudden outburst, but the frustration he always carried within. It was unbearable to recall again and again his weaknesses, those flaws that haunted him—but his “father,” truly detestable, had managed to expose them with only a handful of words.

He knew perfectly well that what this “father” said was true. As much as he wanted to deny it, he could not. Though he was “technically” the emperor’s son by blood and had survived nearly a decade amidst countless threats, he had not done so by his own strength.

The only reason he continued to breathe was that “ability” he carried like a curse.
A curse that kept him alive day after day, though it was also the same that chained him to an existence he had never chosen.

Dravien: [I admit that I have erred once more. I do not seek to excuse my folly, yet if I may, I would show that even amidst my glaring mistakes, I possess the capacity to be of service to you.]

Despite the negative emotions that kept accumulating within him, Dravien kept his head cool and held high, forcing himself not to be carried away by them. With evident effort, he once again apologized for the illogical response he had given mere moments before, acknowledging that he had not acted with clarity.

Drizen: [Frivolous words are easy to utter, yet they are not deeds that my person must perceive. Dravien, what use is it to prattle if, when the truth comes, thou cowers in a corner like a pusillanimous wretch?]

Though Dravien had already apologized not once, but twice for his response, Drizen did not miss the opportunity to emphasize, yet again, his lack of action.
What use was it to apologize a thousand times if nothing was done to remedy the error?

Drizen’s words were sharp; laced with sarcasm and spoken in a disagreeable tone. Yet behind that manner lay a clearer intent: to pressure. He sought to dismantle the cautious demeanor Dravien maintained before him, forcing him to reveal more than mere submission.

Drizen knew full well that Dravien often acted with candor, even recklessness, yet he also recognized that he possessed sufficient cunning to halt at the precise moment. He knew when to restrain himself before his life was imperiled.

And this was, without a doubt, one such case. No matter how irritating the provocation, Dravien had to remain silent, swallow his pride, and endure the weight of words that struck him harder than any physical blow.

Drizen: [What has transpired, Dravien? Hath thy foolish mind drifted to a point of void and ignorance? Or perchance were such declarations of thine mere hallucinatory fashion to abase my person?]

Dravien: [I never said that—]

Drizen: [Silence!]

…

Drizen: [Before we reach the very crux of the matter, my person requires to know something of thee most primordial.]

Dravien: […Of me, Your Excellency?]

Drizen: [Aye, Dravien. Thou shalt not express the obvious in this parlance. Know that what I speak now transcends courtesy and farce.]

The sarcasm that permeated his tone did not escape Dravien’s ears. Though the question sounded more like an expression of surprise than a genuine doubt, Dravien could not fully process the ridiculous humiliation striking him in that moment. Therefore, he answered with the first thing that came to mind, without overthinking it.

Yet something felt odd. Why did he want him there, if he no longer had matters with his supposed “father”? That detail unsettled him, for Drizen’s transition—from direct humiliation toward a more personal approach—disoriented him greatly.

And, beyond unsettling, it seemed suspicious, as though an ulterior intention lay hidden that he had yet to decipher.

Drizen: [In this place, the Sacred Empire of Vollachia must uphold a single and rudimentary creed: be strong. It matters not if thy talent lies in cookery, in mnemotechnics, or in any form of cunning; if thou lackest the strength to shield thyself even from thy own self, and if thou art not able to exhibit sufficient firmness to uphold thine own life, thou shalt not be worthy to tread these lands again. Whosoever lacks strength shall be cast aside, for in this Empire weakness is not tolerated and shall never find a place within it.]

The harsh, unflinching truth of the Empire echoed through the hall. Drizen’s grave voice imposed a weight that left no room for objection; to interrupt in that instant would not only be disrespectful, but an unforgivable error.

Dravien, still trapped in the bitter sting of the humiliation he had suffered moments before, forced himself to focus and listen with all the attention he could muster.

He knew perfectly well that those words, though merely an introduction, carried incalculable value for understanding what was to come, and that any detail overlooked could cost him dearly later.

Drizen: [And this becomes even more evident in our lineage, Dravien; the lineage of the Emperor of Vollachia and all his descendants.]

Dravien did not like the direction the conversation was taking.

If he was mentioning his blood siblings—

Drizen: [And dost thou know how many descendants my person must sire in these lands?]

Hardening his expression, Drizen leaned slightly forward toward Dravien. His gaze, already as serious as befitted his nature, became even more rigid and piercing, accentuating an air of threat that grew heavier with each passing moment.

Dravien: [If I remember correctly, and according to the information we have received from Your Excellency, you have engendered sixty-eight children in this world.]

An immediate answer sprang to mind upon hearing His Excellency’s question.

He was fortunate to know it, largely because he always sought to be well-informed of what transpired around him. He also had the advantage of a small library in his mansion, to which he had begun dedicating more time in recent years.

It was there that he first developed a real interest in reading, though not entirely by his own initiative; Prisca had instilled the habit, and eventually, she had transmitted to him a genuine fondness for books.

Drizen: [Indeed. All my offspring, without exception, must possess the aptitudes and strengths that this Empire demands. Each of them is strong in their own manner. Be they men or women, short or tall, human or semi-beast.]

He made it clear; it matters not who the person be nor to what race they belong. So long as they possess sufficient strength to defend themselves, they shall be deemed worthy to remain upon these lands. That is the rule which distinguishes those who are accepted from those who are not, and by this principle the true worth of each individual in this realm is measured.

Drizen: [Little reckons it what physical traits each one may bear. That which determines their value is the capacity to endure and surpass that which this world doth impose. If they survive, it is because they merit it. And those who do not…]

In a voice moderately low, Drizen narrowed his eyes as he advanced, his expression growing ever darker. His hands, at that moment, pressed firmly against one another, a gesture that bespoke his distaste for what he was about to utter.

There was in his visage a tension most evident, as if to speak those words were itself a burden. It seemed that what he was about to pronounce was abhorrent to him, almost repulsive, and that aversion was reflected in every motion he made.

Drizen: [They rot. By the very natural selection of these lands, they are made into naught. Not even the slightest right is granted them to squander the air of this Empire, for their nonexistence leaves no trace nor profit.]

He despised the weak.

Drizen: [Whereas thou…]

Gradually, second by second, Drizen’s countenance, already marked by anger, grew ever darker with each word that slipped from his lips. His crimson eyes remained fixed upon Dravien’s, as though he sought to shatter not only his thoughts but any vestige of security he might possess.

Drizen’s expression elicited not the faintest amusement in Dravien. Quite the contrary; a fear, unlike any he had previously borne, began to stir slowly within the depths of his being. A novel fear, one that filled him with profound unease.

With his mask cracking once more, Dravien strove to order his thoughts and discern how he ought to respond. If he had already reached the conclusion—borne even indirectly by the words of his own “father”—that what had transpired at the table of refreshments was no punishment nor the like, then but one simple explanation remained for Drizen’s treatment of him.
His overall demeanor. Nothing more.

Drizen: [Thou persistest in childish comportment, obstinate in maintaining a guise that any with the slightest judgment might unmask. Tell me, whom dost thou seek to deceive, Dravien? Me, the seventy-sixth Emperor of Vollachia? Or dost thou fancy thyself above me!?]

Dravien: […?! I do not intend—]

Drizen: [Silence! Defile not this air with such meager excuses. I am no lowly judge to be swayed by paltry words. I have beheld men of all kinds: traitors, flatterers, cowards, even fools who dared proclaim themselves saviors. Thinkest thou thy visage conceals the truth?]

He was angry.

No—enraged was the more fitting word.

“Thinkest thou me a fool whom thou canst hoodwink?!” That was the message Drizen sought to imprint upon Dravien.

Throughout their discourse, Drizen’s face contorted ever further, reflecting an anger that grew unchecked. His fury was not stirred merely by the lie, but by the audacity of one he deemed inferior attempting to deceive him—the seventy-sixth Emperor of Vollachia—with a performance that, in his estimation, did not even reach the humblest standard of a jester.

To him, it was an affront most direct, impossible to overlook.

Dravien, meanwhile, was ill at ease with the course the conversation had taken. Was he not supposed to be a man enshrouded in mystery? One whom none could truly decipher, not even to their deepest cores? That was the essence of the role he must uphold. How then could his “father” perceive beyond “Dravien”?

…

No, it must not be thus. What they beheld must be “Dravien”: a son feigning childishness and naivety, yet in truth a genius in every sense. That was the image he must project. So why, now, did it feel as though Drizen spoke not to “Dravien,” but to “Subaru”?
It made no sense. It could not be.

…

Could it?

Drizen: [A person guileless, pitiable, and puerile. Though thou hast dwelt in these lands nigh a decade, thou persistest in base behavior that shames thy lineage. A wretch who, at diverse junctures, would find naught but rejection without consideration.]

The insults toward him did not cease; they were repeated, again and again, with a cruelty seemingly unending. Each word bore the weight of contempt and revulsion, manifesting the abhorrence his own father held for him, despite their shared blood.

In this place, Subaru was seen nigh as an anomaly, one who fit not the norms nor expectations of society. The atmosphere was so taut with tension that it seemed, at any instant, they might dispose of him without hesitation.

Drizen: [Yet…]

A flicker of suspicion passed through his crimson eyes.

A mouse cannot survive in a den of cats; it is virtually impossible. Yet if it endures, there must be a reason. One such reason may be constant concealment, or flight at the faintest hint of danger.

Another, far riskier, would be to masquerade as one among the cats, concealing its true nature. Yet the most remarkable thing is not that it attempts, but that it prolongs its existence beyond all expectation.

Drizen: […thou persistest. Thou persistest before mine eyes, remaining where others would have fallen.]

With each syllable uttered, Drizen’s accent weakened noticeably, making evident the gravity of the situation. There was a hesitation in his words that did not go unnoticed, as if, in the very instant he spoke, he doubted the truth of what he affirmed.

Drizen: [If thou dost inquire of me, ‘tis… peculiar. An individual such as hath ne’er been seen in these times.]

Drizen’s countenance plainly showed disgust and distrust toward the individual who shared the room with him. And it was understandable; how could he not see it so, witnessing something that threatened all that this nation had been building for over four centuries?

Whereupon…

Drizen: [A befuddled being, whose consubstantial nature doth wander ever in fortune’s whim. In a land where any common knave, should he so choose, may seize the life of another.]

Dravien: […]

Drizen: [A creature that, even in this inhospitable realm, continues to coexist alongside mine own person.]

…He continued to belittle Dravien’s conduct.

Dravien knew perfectly well that, under no circumstance, must he interrupt during the reprimand. He had tried a few times minutes before, yet his words had failed to fully reach His Excellency—or rather, the latter had paid no heed to any excuse he offered.

Yet that rational judgment did not prevent…

Drizen: [Wherefore, Dravien… nay, whosoever thou art; mine own person must consult with thee.]

This time he did not call him by name, but spoke to him as to a complete stranger, as if the person before him were not his own son, but someone alien, distant, almost impossible to recognize.

For that reason, he rose from his seat. His feet moved with firm steps toward Dravien, advancing only as far as necessary until they stood face to face—or rather, from torso to head.

Drizen stared intently, his expression hard and tense. His eyes conveyed a coldness leaving no doubt, while Dravien remained utterly silent, not averting his gaze. The emperor’s fists clenched tightly, striking one another, making clear that he would not take the matter lightly.

The atmosphere grew heavier by the moment; the room seemed to shrink, suffocating them as if the air itself were slowly vanishing. Sweat once again ran down his skin, clinging to his garments, heightening the discomfort. Yet none of that sufficed to divert him from what he was about to say. The question could not remain unspoken.

Drizen: [Art thou truly a scion of mine own blood, the seventy-sixth of the Sacred Vollachian Empire? Or art thou… the error of another, a being that threatens to undo the very foundation of this Empire?]

The silence that followed this question was so heavy it seemed capable of suffocating anyone, even one who had faced life and death. And Dravien was no exception.

His small, childlike fists were clenched with an unnatural force for one of his age. The pressure was such that the skin of his hands began to pale.

Outwardly, he maintained a serious, almost impassive face, but inside, his mind was a chaotic whirlwind that dragged him without respite.

Frustration, uncertainty, shame—all these emotions tore through him violently, yet among them one stood dominantly above the rest:

Fear.

Fear that they would discover what truly lay behind that façade. Fear that they would notice he was, in truth, like a mouse hiding among predators. Yet that was not the limit of his terror.

Something far deeper gnawed at him: the dread that someone, by accident or intent, might come to understand that he did not belong to this world. That he belonged neither to that place nor to that time.

Could it be that this man already knew? Had he perceived that Dravien was not simply what he appeared to be?

Dravien: […I am thy direct descendant, Your Excellency.]

Even with the constraints that his emotions imposed upon his rational judgment, Dravien overextended himself in an attempt to maintain composure, forcing out an answer that might at least satisfy what His Excellency wished to hear, even as the weight of doubt and his own thoughts pressed heavily within him.

Dravien’s reply to His Excellency’s “illogical” question resonated sharply in his ears. If one thought on it calmly, Drizen’s demand, questioning if he were no one else, made little sense to any third party. Even Drizen, hearing himself, could not help but note the inconsistency of his words, for who in their right mind would utter such folly?

Certainly not he—or at least, he should not. Yet what struck him most was seeing, if only for a fleeting moment, how Dravien’s mask seemed to crack anew, revealing an involuntary reaction in his eyes that closed almost instinctively.

Any other would have been merely confused by Drizen’s words, but in Dravien the effect was immediate and obvious, as if some unexpected hand had touched a too-sensitive secret, one not meant to be revealed.

With that reaction, Drizen understood that the implication of that strange individual was no falsehood, but rather a truth Dravien could neither hide nor wished to show. Wherefore…

Drizen: [Hmmm… in sum of what that wretched peasant hath proclaimed, his presumption was indubitable.]

…Expressing a slight yet perceptible note of surprise, Drizen averted his gaze from Dravien and looked to the door behind him. It was not that he was truly interested in it, but that he remained silent, reflecting calmly upon what had occurred.

During these moments, he completely ignored Dravien, who now perspired more heavily than before, feeling tension accumulating within his body, impossible to conceal.

Meanwhile, Dravien perceived only the tone in which His Excellency spoke, not the precise words. He felt the urge to ask what had been said, yet understood well that pressing the matter would only open the door to greater difficulty.

For that reason, he restrained himself, keeping the question unspoken, letting the moment pass in silence.

Drizen: [Yet, even an aberration such as thou may prove of some use to my person.]

Dravien’s expression shifted abruptly, passing from a visage heavy with melancholy to a mask marked by surprise. His eyes, which but a moment prior seemed dimmed, now shone with evident doubt as they settled upon his “father.”

The surprise did not seem so much from the content of the words, but from the intent that sustained them. Though he could not fully decipher the hidden meaning of that sentence, he perceived that he was not being asked to reveal his identity nor confess a secret buried deep within, but something more immediate, more tangible: His Excellency wished to test him, to strip away the mask and measure the mettle of that which lay beneath.

Yet still, his emotions betrayed him. His face gave him away without remedy, clearly exposing the impression those words had left upon him.

Drizen: [Eh? What art thou, anomalous being? Dost thou suppose that the insignificant and unknown veil of thy existence is that which sustains thy life? Deceive thyself not. Naught of such trivialities holds value within the creed of the Empire. Thou art not indispensable, nor doth thy personal farce present a matter of grave import. Here, thy condition carrieth no weight, and if thou dost insist upon granting it importance, thou shalt but display how little thou comprehendest of that which is demanded within this hall.]

The hum of those words fell like an irrevocable judgment. It was not his secret that had been questioned, but an enigma dwelling within his spirit. That was the answer Drizen sought, and upon obtaining it, the game of unmasking his son lost all purpose.

He had ascertained for himself that which he required: Dravien, in his depths, possessed the skill to manipulate and distort truth for his own benefit; yet his evident weakness prevented him from transforming that faculty into true power. And for a man such as Drizen, this was no isolated flaw: it was a symptom, a sign of the very disease corroding the Empire.

Thus, leaving behind the humiliation of the private, he turned effortlessly toward that which truly mattered. The Emperor’s hardened face shed the scornful smirk and adopted the gravity of one about to pass judgment upon an entire people.

Drizen: [Tell me, then… dost thou truly understand the foundations upon which this Empire rests? Or doth my judgment err in supposing that thou but scratchest the surface of what it means to wield power?]

Shifting from private humiliation to what seemed to become a matter of state, Drizen removed the expression of anger from his face and assumed the solemnity befitting the Emperor of Vollachia.
Before, he had been drenched in sweat, as though unable to command his nerves, but now he sought to erase all trace of emotion, conscious that whatever His Excellency was about to speak must be of grave importance.

Yet, though he strove to maintain composure, the abrupt change of topic unsettled him greatly, and he doubted he could sustain the focus required in that moment.

Drizen: [An Empire upheld by fear. A primitive emotion which every creature, without exception, must experience and employ to some degree. Be the individual weak or strong, never shall that sentiment prove pleasant, and for that reason, they strive to shun or deny it, though deep within they cannot free themselves from its influence.]

Dravien averted his gaze for a moment, seeking to order the whirlwind of words His Excellency had hurled upon him. Slowly, he understood that it was not merely a reproach directed at him, but a portrait of the Empire itself: a nation sustained upon a single pillar, an unyielding emotion… fear.

Fear represents one of the five principal emotions possessed by sentient beings. This emotion serves an essential purpose, as it helps individuals avoid actions that may imperil their lives. In other words, it is a basic emotion necessary for survival.

Yet, in the case of the Holy Empire of Vollachia, fear is not merely a natural instinct, but has become a tool of political and social control. Fear is employed almost as the very foundation of governance, inevitably generating tension and possible fissures within the Empire’s structure.
Such cracks may arise from discontent toward the emperor’s rule, internal rivalries, or even mere ambition for power.

What is certain is that, in an environment where strength governs all, should the most powerful find the opportunity to eradicate that which fuels their fears, they would do so without hesitation.

Drizen: [And how else may one sever such sentiments if not by slitting the throat of my person?]

The question was, for the most part, sarcastic; it was not addressed to any in particular, but rather to himself. He pondered how those in power might feel more secure in their position.

And the manner in which they seemed to seek an answer was by eliminating the life of their ruler. Yet Drizen’s countenance revealed another truth; that unhinged smile made clear that living constantly under threat mattered little to him, as though naught could truly harm him.

Drizen: [Shall my person possess no discretion, Dravien? Thou must coexist in a manner much akin to my own. Day after day, at any instant, our breath may become the last we shall exhale. For this reason, my person supposeth thou dost comprehend with clarity what our way of life signifies, and the demands it imposeth.]

In revealing their curiously similar conditions of life, Drizen made clear that they were more alike than it seemed, provoking some discomfort in Dravien. Yet he could not deny the logic of these words, for he knew that every second bore weight, even amidst that celebration.

Still, something in the manner Drizen spoke caught his attention. There was a subtle negative charge in his tone, as though behind the assertion lay a feeling of rejection. Did he truly find such thoughts displeasing? He, the current Emperor of Vollachia, expressing unease at so evident a truth?

Drizen: [Ha! Misunderstand me not; at no moment hath my person asserted that I execrate such acts. Verily, it standeth as undeniable evidence of the dogma that governeth this vast empire. Behold these ignorant creatures, who in their folly believe that mere vigor may strip me of the station that rightfully pertaineth unto me as emperor. Without doubt, with such a mindset, these individuals reveal themselves as naught but beings fit to subsist and prosper in this realm.]

…Well, it seemed he had erred.

He read with clarity the thoughts of his son, abruptly interrupting the flow of his reflections. He had laid bare his stance: he cared not that his life was exposed to constant peril, for such was the way of the empire, a reality that offered neither reprieve nor alternative.

Drizen: [Wherefore doth my person inquire of thee: Is thy mind capable of discerning, and of explaining unto my person, how such bands of apes may possess sufficient faculty to perform such acts with so great a measure of coordination and purpose?]

A question was thus directed at Dravien, who listened with utmost attention to every word of His Excellency. The question descended upon him with clarity, leaving him contemplative regarding the matter so posed.

The topic pertained to the conditions of life they both shared, for inevitably, Drizen and Dravien—like all their kin—were exposed to the same fate: to live beneath a constant threat, where the slightest lapse or the merest distraction could herald the end of their lives.

Hence, he could not prevent a sense of understanding towards his “father” from seizing his mind at that moment.

Dravien, thus prompted by His Excellency’s interrogation, began to reflect and analyze the matter.

Unhappily for him, he held a clear vision of what it meant to endure such a life, though in him it was something more singular than for any of his relatives.

For, though his siblings clearly possessed the faculties needed to survive in this realm, in his mind, Subaru believed his own survival owed naught to himself, but solely to the peculiar ability granted unto him upon his birth in this world.

Wherefore, to place him in a position equal or even superior to that of his siblings left a bitter taste…

Subaru: […Wait, why am I pondering such things now? Enough distractions, Subaru! This is serious!]

He shook his head sharply to dispel the clumsy reflection, for it bore little relation to the question his “father” had posed.

He could ill afford to waste time on vain thoughts when far greater stakes were at hand. Thus, determined to be clear and precise, he focused all his attention on answering His Excellency’s inquiry.

Dravien: […From what thou hast imparted, those of greater physical might tend to possess a less developed reasoning than others. By reason of this, they are oft found in a state of constant disorder, incapable of maintaining a clear direction.]

With one hand resting upon his jaw and avoiding the gaze of His Excellency, Dravien began to answer the question Drizen had posed. He paced back and forth while speaking, heedless of His Excellency’s presence.

Yet despite his restless motion, his words issued with a precision uncommon in him, given his usual manner of speech. Drizen, for his part, lost not a single instant of attention; nay, he kept his gaze fixed upon his son, observing him intently and weighing each nuance of his response with unwavering seriousness.

Unlike prior moments, when Dravien had been swept by a tide of negative emotions, he now strove to remain calm. He endeavored to banish all distractions of the heart and to focus upon reason, constructing a response both clear and coherent.

Dravien: [To remedy such a plight, the presence of a third party proves indispensable; one who possesseth sufficient authority and leadership to organize and guide these individuals.]

A group cannot rightly be deemed as such without an individual to lead and direct it along a defined course. Such a leader claimeth his place by winning over the others through simple accords—which to them appear wondrous—earning their loyalty and transforming them into allies who shall fight for the selfish desires of their guide.

Within this empire, death in battle is esteemed honorable, for it is believed that to give one’s life in war is the path to peace. Yet some, upon gaining strength, fall to vanity or greed, wielding that power solely for personal ambition.

Thus, those of superior intellect develop a different vision of how to achieve their ends, employing means that rely not on brute force alone.

And should their plans demand it, they know how to manipulate those who wield such power, rewarding them to keep them aligned, or, when need be, betraying them without hesitation. In this domain, there is no middle path: one is either useful or an obstacle.

Dravien: [Consequently, we may deduce that this third must also possess the skill of discourse, the eloquence to persuade and to subdue them under his direction. Considering the folk of this empire, though many lack great physical prowess, they often compensate by mastering speech and wielding cunning sufficient to prevail over others.]

Finishing his conjecture, Dravien ceased pacing from one side to the other and stopped at the corner of the room, beneath the watchful gaze of His Excellency.

He abruptly interrupted his words, as if he had suddenly realized something, and then slowly turned his head toward Drizen, feeling a cold sweat crawl across his forehead as he met that analytical gaze that studied him without blinking.

Subaru: [Are you an imbecile? No, I am surely the one. Why must I always fall into this wretched habit? And right before His Excellency!]

Alarms in his mind blared frantically. To him, what he had just done was nothing more than an act of overly obvious imprudence.

In his attempt to contain the tension, he only did the opposite: he began pacing again, thoughtlessly and without measuring his behavior, as if he had completely forgotten that the man remained there, witnessing every movement.

Drizen: [Hmmm? Shall a reasonable judgment spring forth from thy miserable being? What a marvel; even it must be praised.]

Ignoring the evident tension, Drizen appeared utterly calm, as if unaware of his son’s state of mind. Yet it was not that he did not notice; in truth, he knew all too well that bad habit of his descendant’s—to pace from side to side whenever pondering something.

It was not the first time he had witnessed it, and he had even spoken with him privately about that conduct, yet always the same occurred: whenever confronted with an analytical question, the behavior repeated.

Over time, Drizen had concluded that, no matter how often he reprimanded or threatened him, he would never fully eradicate that habit, which seemed an inseparable part of him.

Drizen: [Verily, the folly of this contemptible creature is boundless.]

Ignoring that, Drizen’s evident sarcasm did not escape Dravien, who decided to emphasize it further by clapping slowly, in a gesture heavy with irony. Though his expression was usually hard to read, a faint trace of amusement crossed his face, a sign that the situation was unfolding according to his expectations.

Everything seemed to indicate that the conversation progressed precisely as he had anticipated from the start, reinforcing his confidence in the control he exercised over the exchange of words.

Drizen: [Since thou seemest possessed of sufficient learning to demonstrate some measure of analytical capacity, mine own person must take for granted that, at the very least, thy dung-shaped brain is able to discern the reason why I have deigned to summon thee to mine presence.]

Dravien: [If you have given me this speech… does a mere subject of the Empire dare to overthrow you from the throne?]

Drizen: […Aye, Dravien, that is the true reason why thou art to converse with mine own person: my will is that thou investigate a certain place.]

The conversation was reaching a decisive point, for the calm and slight amusement that had been reflected upon Drizen’s face vanished completely, giving way to his imperial and severe countenance.

Everything that had transpired, from the beginning to this moment, had a defined purpose, something that could not be ignored and which answered a vital necessity for these lands.

The pressure in the atmosphere shifted perceptibly. This time, it was not about extracting a secret or seeking to humiliate, as had happened before; it was something entirely different.

What was palpable was an atmosphere charged with significance, meant to make clear the weight of being the emperor and the role he represented within the Empire.

Drizen: [Come hither.]

A simple command slipped from Drizen’s lips, short and direct, yet sufficient for Dravien to understand what was required. Without hesitation, he stepped forward firmly toward His Excellency, keeping a vigilant eye on every motion of that man.

While waiting, Drizen opened one of the compartments of the nearby table and, with measured calm, drew out what appeared to be a large roll of paper. Its size was uncommon: upon closer inspection, Dravien noted that the object was almost as long as the very table dominating the room.

The impression was clear; it was no mere document, but something that could immediately be recognized as a map of considerable proportions.

As he approached the spot His Excellency had indicated, Dravien stopped silently, observing attentively as Drizen unfurled the enormous parchment upon the table, revealing the extent of its contents.

Drizen completed the unfolding, revealing a large-scale map of the Empire of Vollachia. One could discern all the cities of the Empire, from the Iron and Blood City of Glarasia to the jungle of Buddheim. It was crafted meticulously, showing in legible letters the names of towns, cities, and even lakes and rivers.

Yet what truly drew his attention was a particular red circle marking a specific city to the southeast of the Empire, located near both the Fortress City of Guaral and the Demon City of Chaosflare.

Drizen: [As thy deplorable being may observe, within this map lie the full bounds of the territory of Vollachia. All the cities of the Empire are herein contained.]

He gave a brief explanation of the map’s content without averting his gaze. Then he pointed with his finger at the circle marking the city. To make clear the importance of this site, he lightly tapped his finger upon the spot multiple times.

Drizen: [Drelf Horken… Know ye not his fate? He is one of the lesser counts under my dominion, erstwhile possessor of vast lands and a modest private army. His duty hath ever been to govern said lands, ensuring their stability and sustenance, whilst also tending to the administration of the city within that district.]

The explanation regarding the principal concern of the conversation consumed Dravien’s full attention, banishing any distraction that might arise.

Drelf Horken.

Though he did not recall precisely who this man was, the name felt familiar. As a pillar of House Benedict, Dravien bore the obligation to educate himself on matters of governance and imperial politics.

This duty inevitably compelled him to memorize the names and faces of the counts within the realm, though in some instances, the memories remained hazy.

Drizen: [Yet, according to the reports of mine own watchers, and by thine own discernment, thy behavior hath of late appeared most peculiar. Last month, several sentinels did attest to observing unusual movements amongst certain lesser counts.

These counts, far from minding solely their usual affairs, seem to have begun forging bonds amongst themselves toward a definite end. All signs indicate that this union’s declared purpose is to imperil the stability of my governance and, in the end, place mine own safety at jeopardy.]

Dravien listened with utmost care, marking down each important detail that issued from His Excellency’s lips.

He still felt fear. He still felt uncertainty. Yet, since this grim discourse began, he was at last relieved that he was not the primary subject of discussion. This afforded him a small measure of comfort amid the oppressive atmosphere.

Drizen: [Wherefore, I hope that thou, albeit a scion many call “childish” and “foolish,” dost yet hold within thy grasp the potential to achieve feats few would deem possible. I command thee, therefore, to investigate personally the actions of Drelf Horken, which may yet prove a threat. And, if necessity dictate, reduce his mere existence to naught but manure for my lands.]

His Excellency concluded his speech, and with deliberate calm, rolled up the great map that lay between them, returning it to its proper compartment.

Dravien swallowed with difficulty. The torrent of information his “father” had just unleashed was not easy to digest. His gaze wandered, lost and uncertain, as he tried to process all he had heard in that report.

From the insinuation that he was truly an “impostor” to the sudden mention of Drelf Horken, every point in the conversation left him more bewildered than before. His Excellency’s discourse had leapt from one subject to another without apparent order, yet Dravien began to suspect that this disarray was intentional—a method to keep him controlled and steer the conversation at will.

…

Dravien… no, Subaru realized something.

He knew not precisely how nor why, but in his mind, pieces suddenly aligned. He understood that His Excellency had entrusted him with exceedingly specific information, details that hinted at the presence of a possible traitor within Vollachia.

And then he comprehended: this was why he had been brought to that dilapidated chamber, isolated from all and sundry. It was no mere whim of location, but a necessity to ensure that no third party overheard the discussion. His Excellency desired no witnesses.

Wherefore…

Dravien: [Was this then the reason the hall harbored so few guests?]

Drizen: [… Pray, what dost thou mean?]

Dravien: [The true reason for the paucity of guests in the hall is that no whisper of this matter should leak forth?]

Having heard Dravien’s conjecture, Drizen fell into absolute silence, fixing his gaze upon his son. He did not avert his eyes, as though seeking to decipher each word with utmost precision. Moment by moment, Dravien perceived a strange mixture in his father’s eyes—a glint bordering upon madness and bewilderment.

Drizen knew well his son’s abilities; these were no secret to him. Yet what truly astonished him was the swiftness with which Dravien had formulated such a hypothesis. Slowly, his features began to shift until his face transformed into a twisted smile, laden with something undefinable, hovering between approval and disdain.

Drizen: [So at last thou shalt manifest thy cunning, eh?]

Hence, he was pleased.

Foolishly pleased.

Drizen: [Dravien Benedict.]

He extended his arms to either side, letting his fine cloak unfurl and cover much of his form, lending him a presence more imposing than usual. His silhouette seemed to occupy every corner of the chamber. All else fell to the background, leaving naught but the attention his mere presence commanded.

Drizen: [I await great deeds from this charge, Dravien. Show by thine actions what it means to be a son of the Emperor of Vollachia, and prove that within thy blood lies the strength to command respect and obedience.]

The twisted smile, eyes brimming with disdain and madness, and the imposing figure before him made the very air seem suffocating.

Dravien could scarcely react; his body tensed, and all he could manage was an awkward swallow, compelled to acknowledge the solemnity of that presence which dominated him entirely.

Amid that oppressive silence, Dravien could not help but feel small, his mere existence laid bare beneath the shadow of that figure, who required no words to assert authority.

Hearing the heavy click of the grand door behind him, Subaru continued forward with steady steps through the vast hall where His Excellency was being honored.
The vibrations of the instruments spread throughout the room, filling the air with a constant murmur that barely managed to hold his attention.

Only a few minutes had passed since the argument with his “father” had ended. Yet the weight of those words still lingered on his shoulders.

Any trace of emotion had vanished from his expression, as if that confrontation had drained everything left inside him. His face bore a muted seriousness, almost melancholic, as though carrying a burden too difficult to release.

In the distance, he could make out a few faces, though he didn’t stop to recognize them. He cared neither for the figures nor the murmurs, nor for the atmosphere reigning in the hall. The only thing he truly desired at that moment was to approach his sister, Prisca.

All that previous conversation, all the mental weight that had struck him, had left him exhausted and empty. That was why the only thing his heart longed for now was to see her. She was his pillar, the only presence he could fully trust amidst so much tension. To him, his sister represented the certainty that he was not alone in this world.

…

Prisca: [With such a vain countenance, I should be ashamed to call you of my own blood. Don’t you agree, foolish brother?]

Subaru: [Whoa?!]

He turned his head abruptly, almost instinctively, when he heard that voice resonating just behind him. There was no doubt: it was Prisca.

With her arrogant smile set upon her face and that cutting presence she wielded effortlessly, Prisca openly mocked the expression Subaru wore at that moment.

Subaru: [Prisca-tan? How is it possible that you’re behind me and I didn’t notice?]

Prisca: [Your precarious, melancholy silhouette barely registered the presence of my divine self. Were I an assassin, your head would already be rolling upon the precious marble floor.]

Subaru: [Nonsense! If that hypothetical case were true, I’d spin around and with a mighty uppercut shout “Shoryuken!” and crush anyone who dares to harm me.]

Subaru laughed awkwardly at the encounter, for right before him stood the person he had most been silently pleading with.

Prisca, hearing him, could not help but trace a faint, almost mocking smile upon her lips as she observed how her brother insisted upon those “nonsense” statements he delivered with such earnestness.

She immediately made him aware of the languid expression Subaru bore. His head was bowed, his eyes lost. It seemed the melancholy was so consuming that he scarcely noticed who was near him.

Prisca: [Hmph! Look at that cheap hero pose. Do you fancy yourself the protagonist of a secondary novel?]

Subaru: [Of course! And with special effects included, like HD quality and an epic soundtrack as I defeat all the villains!]

The remark vanished into the air like a clumsy attempt to mask the discomfort consuming him. Though he tried to maintain a light and joking tone, his words could not hide the heaviness still clinging to his expression. Prisca regarded him with a mixture of mockery and irritation, as if fully understanding that this exaggerated discourse was but a mask for what he truly felt.

Prisca: [Changing the subject, your demeanor seems far more pathetic than it ought to be, don’t you think?]

Subaru: [...Always noticing everything, huh? I’ll never be able to hide anything from you.]

Prisca: [Ha! Well, obviously. To whom do you think you are speaking?]

A sigh of frustration escaped Subaru’s lips, accompanied by a half-smile. It was a bitter smile, yet there was a slight relief in hearing the unmistakable voice of his sister. He could not help but feel his heart calm a little knowing she was near.

Prisca, on the other hand, frowned with evident displeasure, scrutinizing her brother’s expression. She had seen him act miserably on other occasions, but something about this instance felt different. She knew, without words, that it had to do with the conversation they had with His Excellency.

Yet… for some reason, that particular expression of his always irritated her and filled her with an unease she could not ignore.

Prisca: [But you know what? Your demeanor spoils the atmosphere of this establishment.]

Subaru: […Hey! What are you doing?!]

Suddenly, Prisca gripped Subaru’s wrist firmly and pulled him toward the area where the band was playing. The action was so sudden that Subaru barely had time to react, and he ended up following her almost by force.

The audience glanced curiously at them, though they quickly returned their attention elsewhere, considering it an inconsequential matter. Even so, it was inevitable that both would stand out at any event, for in one way or another, they always drew everyone’s eyes.

Prisca: [What do you think, naive brother? We shall dance.]

Subaru: [Right now? There isn’t even anyone dancing!]

Prisca: [And does the judgment of the crowd concern you? Stop fretting over such trivialities and focus on this beauty instead, will you?]

Near the band, Prisca positioned herself in a dance pose, taking Subaru by the shoulder and hand, while he held her by the waist and also took her hand. They exchanged a glance to ensure both were ready, and then their bodies began moving almost in unison. Every small gesture seemed to flow naturally, as though they needed not think about the steps or the direction.

And then… they began to dance.

There was no preparation, no planning; they simply let themselves be carried by the music. They twirled, moved, and followed the rhythm without overthinking the steps, as if understanding each other instinctively. It was not an impressive or complicated dance, but it was enough to focus on something different and distract themselves from everything else.

They did not seek to impress or draw attention; they only shared a joyful moment, allowing the music to guide them as they moved in harmony, like companions who understood each other without words.

Subaru: [This is making me a bit embarrassed…]

Prisca: [Embarrassed about what? That your poor dance steps make you see how pitiful you are? Leave such trifles for another time. At least, my divine self is merciful enough to allow you to dance with me.]

The music continued to flow, and although glances remained upon them, Subaru no longer paid them any mind. At least, during this tension-filled birthday, he allowed himself a moment of respite: he let his thoughts calm, let the melody envelop him, and let his clumsy, hesitant steps synchronize with those of his sister.

For a brief instant, neither His Excellency nor the burdens pressing upon him existed. There were only the two of them, united in that improvised dance, holding onto a small fragment of tranquility in a world that seemed determined to snatch it away.

Chapter Text

The body felt strange, far too light; it was right there, he could recognize it within the exposure of what, damn it, had to be his very own existence. An absurd lightness, as if the matter that composed him no longer carried weight.

And yet, something was off. A strange, uncomfortable sensation kept him restless. It was a disconnection that ran through every part of him, a kind of emptiness he couldn’t locate or understand.

He couldn’t clearly describe what coursed through his insides, as if something had suddenly ripped away his ability to process what surrounded him. The only thing left was the possibility of feeling—but without references, without anything concrete to anchor him.

The eyes. He tried to lift even just an eyelid. In any strange situation, the first thing one does is look, search for something nearby to find orientation. But there was nothing. Only endless darkness. And his eyelids, no matter how hard he forced them, didn’t respond.

No… it wasn’t that they were shut. They had been open from the very beginning.

Desperate, he tried to move some part of his body. If he couldn’t see, at least he should be able to touch something, feel the ground beneath him to know where he was, right? But there was no response either. His arms, his legs—nothing moved. As if he had been stripped of all control.

No, wait… it wasn’t that they didn’t obey. It was as if he simply didn’t have them. Just like what had happened with his eyelids.

Every attempt to move amounted to nothing. Without vision, without movement, trapped in a state where the only thing present was the discomfort of floating.

…

At some unexpected point in life, people experience a phenomenon known as déjà vu.

It’s a subjective experience in which one feels that a present situation has already happened before, even though there isn’t the slightest proof to confirm it.

This kind of event usually occurs when, by chance, the brain undergoes a temporal glitch that creates a false sense of familiarity—a momentary disconnection between neurons that alters how perceptions are processed.

However, in his current state, this seemed to go beyond a simple déjà vu.

The sudden lightness running through his entire body, the darkness his eyelids barely registered, and the almost complete absence of his limbs felt far too familiar. It was as if he had already experienced this strange condition before, as if this episode wasn’t new but the repetition of something that had already happened.

???: [ █ ████ ███ ]

From the corner of his vision, he noticed an object breaking the symmetry of the darkness that dominated that entire space.

It was something different from the blackness surrounding him. That’s why he tried to move his head—if he even had one—to focus better and understand what was there, what existed in the middle of that void.

It was a light.

A simple, small, and clear light; a tiny white dot resting at the very center of his vision. A light that, in theory, shouldn’t have been there, because everything around him was absolute darkness.

He didn’t know how, or when, or where, or why that object was in the same place as he was. His reasoning was at its minimum, almost nonexistent, yet still something within him—the deepest part of his being—pushed him toward the light. Something urged him to move, to get closer, to be near that point that seemed to defy the darkness.

He felt an impulse he could not ignore. There was no logic or reason to explain the instinct, but it seemed to be part of him, a need he couldn’t avoid. He wanted to draw nearer, to experience what the light represented, to understand why it was there.

But he couldn’t. Without clear vision, without limbs, without a defined body, without full consciousness, there was no way to act. He could only exist, floating in that strange place, watching the light without being able to reach it.

With every passing second, the feeling of helplessness grew more intense.

Still, despite the immobility, despite the lack of meaning, something inside him refused to let go. That light became a goal, a minimal purpose, something that gave him a reason to remain there, in the midst of nothing. And even though he couldn’t reach it, even though he couldn’t do anything concrete, he knew he had to try to comprehend it, understand it, and, in some way, be close to it.

???: [ █ ████ ███ ]

The vibration of an unfamiliar voice reverberated persistently within his consciousness. The echo came instantly, as if there were no space between the word and the impression it left on him. He couldn’t identify the tone, nor did he know who or what had spoken it. Still, it felt strangely familiar.

It was a timbre he somehow recognized, though it felt different—contradictorily near and distant at once. Something had seeped into his mind without permission, and though at another time that might have caused him fear, this wasn’t the case. It brought him calm, dispersing any doubt or negative thought that could have weighed him down.

It wasn’t an ordinary comfort, but rather a sensation that urged him to move forward. Before him, a growing radiance unfolded, a clarity that seemed to hold all the answers he had never sought. And that light, slow but steady, was drawing nearer.

No… it wasn’t just the light that was approaching. He, too, was moving toward it, as if something external were pushing him without his control. There was no will of his own in that movement, nor was there any warning or explanation. It simply happened, because it had to be that way.

An inevitable doubt surfaced in his mind: was it that same voice—the one he had heard seconds earlier—that was pulling him forward?

???: [ █ ████ ███ ]

The voice echoed once again. It was the same, clear and undeniable. It carried him through his own consciousness as if guiding him along a path that didn’t exist. And the strange thing was that, in theory, he had no body.

He possessed no ears, no sight, no touch—none of the senses that defined perception. So then, how could he hear with such clarity that voice which seemed impossible, and yet, at the same time, soothed him?

The question lingered unanswered. In the end, it didn’t matter. It had never mattered. The only certainty he had was that this voice—or whatever it was—was leading him toward a light so majestic that it seemed to consume all of his attention. He didn’t know if it did so to help him or for some unknown purpose, but he accepted it without resistance.

He would move forward, no matter the reason. He would move forward, even if he understood nothing. That determination was the last thing to cross the mind of Subaru Natsuki before he was engulfed by the rays of that light.

Subaru: [Hmmm… is it morning already?]

A faint groan escaped his lips as the first rays of sunlight forced their way through his eyelids with irritating persistence. The constant chirping of birds made it clear that morning had already arrived. The softness of the sheets and the comfort of the mattress tempted him to stay still for just a while longer. His eyes weren’t only tired; they felt heavy, as if each eyelid carried a weight impossible to bear.

Subaru: [Man… how much longer am I going to keep dreaming the same thing? I’m like a broken record, repeating the same thing over and over.]

Despite his urge to give in to sleep, Subaru forced himself to think about those strange dreams that had haunted him for years. He never managed to remember details—just fragments: sensations, emotions, and a vaguely sharp nostalgia that clung to his memory without ever making sense.

Those dreams weren’t like the others; they always left him uneasy, with something unresolved he didn’t know how to face. He could rack his brain endlessly and still reach no conclusion. It was frustrating—and that frustration weighed on him more than curiosity ever could.

Subaru: [I don’t want to waste energy on this right now. All I want is to sleep… collapse into bed and stop thinking...]

He tried to push the thoughts away, convincing himself it wasn’t worth looking for immediate answers. The desire to go back to sleep was too strong—so strong that every part of his body refused to move. Slowly, he drifted back toward slumber, letting reality blur away.

…

???: [Forgive me for interrupting your rest, Dravien-sama, but you must wake up. If you keep sleeping, it will soon be too late.]

Subaru: [Hmm… enough already, Mom, just five more minutes.]

The sharp thud of the door suddenly shattered the calm around him, accompanied by the insistent voice of a maid trying to wake him. In his half-asleep state, Subaru mistook the voice for his mother’s. But in this world, his mother had already died—and that detail only made his response all the more absurd.

The maid, however, couldn’t simply ignore his protest. She had direct orders from none other than Prisca, the pillar of House Benedict, whom she served without question. Allowing Dravien to stay in bed was essentially volunteering to walk into the wolf’s jaws.

Maid: [Dravien-sama, Prisca-sama personally ordered me to wake you. She said that if you don’t get up right this moment, she’ll be the one to dislocate your jaw.]

Subaru: [Wha—?! Okay, okay, I’m up! See? I’m awake, alright?!]

Hearing the “charming,” “lovely,” and “effective” warning from his sister, Subaru sprang out of bed like a spring-loaded toy.

Subaru: [All set! Dravien Benedict is ready for another day!]

A new day had arrived before Subaru’s eyes, and it was a “good” day simply because, for the first time in a long while, nobody had tried to kill him while he slept. That alone was enough to make him happier than usual.

Subaru: [Though I wish Arakiya-chan had slept with me this time… but Prisca-tan stole her away.]

Opening the door to his room, a whiny, childlike complaint slipped from his lips. The maid, already waiting patiently in the hallway, said nothing about it and simply observed.

Subaru: [Good morning, Minda. I hope you slept well.]

Minda: [Good morning to you as well, Dravien-sama. I hope this morning is to your liking.]

Subaru: [Oh, come on, let’s drop the formalities. How long have we known each other now?]

Minda: [Though I appreciate your words, my position as a servant does not allow me to be less formal with you.]

The exchange was polite, but Subaru’s smile was genuine—and that was impressive, considering he had just woken up minutes ago. Most servants in the mansion could never respond to their masters without permission.

But Dravien was different.

From the very first day, he had treated them as equals—something unthinkable in that country. That was why conversations with him always felt pleasant, and the maid couldn’t deny that she had never met anyone kinder.

Subaru: [Are you kidding? I understand how important it is for a servant to show respect to their master, but I’ll never see you as beneath me. Besides, Prisca-tan isn’t here to judge me, right?]
Miranda: […]

Truly. That boy was impossible not to love.

While talking about seemingly “trivial” things, master and servant began walking through the mansion’s long, gleaming hallways. Nobody said where they were headed—because there was no need. The routine was always the same, almost every day, and both knew their destination was the bath.

…

A few minutes earlier, Subaru had complained that this time his cute, precious, loving, beautiful, radiant, tender, and even obsessively perfect adoptive sister hadn’t slept with him. The truth was that Arakiya and Subaru shared a bed quite often, mostly because it gave him peace of mind to have her nearby.

Of course, peace of mind is relative: we’re talking about sleeping next to someone who was basically a Pokémon with a bodyguard’s instincts, who reacted to the slightest shift in the air and, on top of that, had a strange fixation with caresses.

So yes, it was “comfortable.” Comfortable in the sense that he could sleep without fear of a group of assassins or shinobi stabbing him in the middle of the night… again.

…

Subaru: [Thanks for coming with me, Minda.]

Minda: [The pleasure is mine, Dravien-sama. Here is your towel.]

She handed Subaru a towel, along with some toiletries, as he stood before the bathroom door.

Apparently, in this place, it was perfectly normal for servants to wash their masters. No one questioned it; everyone saw it as natural.

Well… everyone except Subaru.

To him, the idea was stranger than eating cold soup for breakfast. He couldn’t stand the thought of strangers barging in to scrub him down to the “forbidden zone.”

Subaru: [I don’t even want to remember the first time that happened; that scream was so unmanly it still burns my pride.]

He shook his head, as if moving it hard enough could erase that shameful memory. He opened the bathroom door.

Subaru: [Thank you so much, Minda. Tell Prisca-tan I’ll be with her in a bit.]

Minda: [As you wish.]

The maid, satisfied that she had fulfilled her duty, spun on her heels to inform her other mistress that the mission had been successfully completed.

Subaru: [Ah, wait, before you go…]

She stopped abruptly, turning halfway around with a serious expression, while Subaru stood frozen in the doorway between the hall and the bathroom, looking like he was about to say something important.

Subaru: [Work hard, okay?! You’re amazing at what you do, and you’re really good at it.]

He raised his hands with a thumbs-up and a smile straight out of a cheap toothpaste commercial. He had no idea where he’d picked up that gesture, but he always used it when he wanted to compliment something. It didn’t command respect; it only showed the ridiculous kindness with which he treated even someone who was supposed to be beneath him in rank… and in height.

Minda: [… T-thank you for such words. Now, if you’ll excuse me.]

She bowed quickly, struggling to keep a straight face while emotions threatened to betray her. She turned so fast she nearly tripped over her own foot, hurrying away.

He couldn’t see her face anymore, but in truth she was hiding a wide smile.
Her day had already been good, but those strange, out-of-place phrases from her master had made it even better. And the worst part was that, although she would never admit it out loud… she even found it funny.

Prisca: [Ho~? I didn’t know my naïve brother had hired a clown to brighten up the day.]

Subaru: [Hey! If I were a real clown, I’d be busy luring kids by the cliffs after their paper boat sank.]

Prisca: [Ha! Even if my brother is an idiot in more than one sense, you can’t deny he has a good eye for picking fools.]

Subaru: [But stop ignoring me every time I talk to you, Prisca-tan! You’re breaking my cotton heart in two.]

Clutching his chest with cheap dramatics, Subaru fell victim to accumulated emotional damage every time he heard his sister’s sharp remarks. She, on the other hand, couldn’t help but laugh smugly at the ridiculous spectacle he put on.

That’s how mornings always went for the two twins: Prisca stabbing him with her words, and Subaru pretending to die from a lethal overdose of Priscamockyrine.

When Subaru arrived at the place where his sister was, he noticed she was sitting in what looked like an office. The desk and chair were a bit smaller than usual, sized more for a child, which gave Subaru a strange feeling, though he didn’t stop carefully observing every detail of the scene.

In that same space, which clearly gave off the impression of an office, there was a tall stack of papers resembling documents, neatly arranged across the surface of the desk. Nothing seemed out of place, as if every sheet already had its designated spot.

While talking with her brother, Subaru noticed she seemed to be writing at the same time, never losing her composure. Her appearance stood out for its refinement, projecting an elegant and serious presence, almost flawless, as if in that moment she embodied the human incarnation of the very sun.

Prisca: [Well~, even after what happened a few days ago, you still cling to that pathetic attitude.]

Subaru: [What can I say? Dravien Benedict bounces back faster than anyone, right?]

Prisca: [Ha. He bounces back from everything… except from what goes on inside his own head.]

Subaru: […Okay, okay, time out! That one hit straight on the wound.]

Making a big “X” with his arms, Subaru exaggeratedly refused, shaking his head from side to side as if he truly expected someone to step in on his behalf.

Prisca: [But you were the one who started this game, weren’t you?]

Subaru: [What do you mean me?! You threw the first stone. Tell me, who’s more guilty: the one who throws the stone, or the one who just stands still?]

Prisca: [Yes.]

Subaru: [That doesn’t even answer my question! What kind of logic is that?!]

The banter between the twins went on nonstop. For them, it was one of the most common ways to forget—if only for an instant—their imperial duties and simply enjoy those brief moments of shared happiness. After all, you never know when it might be the last laugh you’ll hear from someone important in your life.

Subaru, trying to push away that thought, let out a sigh of defeat as he watched Prisca once again assert herself with her clever wordplay. She wore a smile that mixed arrogance with satisfaction, proud of having won yet another of their little competitions.

The setting around them fit the scene well. The room was brightly lit, highlighting the elegance and care with which it had been designed. The furniture, numerous and solid, seemed made of sturdy, high-quality wood, radiating a sense of wealth and power.

The color palette of the floor, walls, and ceiling differed somewhat from other areas of the mansion. The intense shades of crimson, orange, and black gave the impression that this space had been created exclusively for the Vollachian royalty, a place that combined comfort with authority.

Prisca: [Leaving foolishness aside—especially yours—you must begin at once with your duties as a pillar of House Benedict.]

Subaru: [I know already, geez… you don’t have to repeat it every time we come here.]

Prisca: [Unfortunately for my divine being, thanks to your lack of diligence, it falls to me to remind you of the obligations imposed upon you as a descendant of the emperor.]

Subaru: [Ahhh… I get it. You don’t have to repeat it every time I step into this place.]

With heavy steps and the laziest attitude, he could muster, Subaru made his way to his office desk. The piece of furniture was nearly identical to Prisca’s, though slightly larger—a detail that seemed chosen solely to emphasize his standing within the family.

Sitting down, Subaru stared at the massive pile of papers and documents stacked in front of him. It was obvious they had been piling up for several days, perhaps weeks, without him bothering to deal with them. The stack had grown so high that if placed on the floor, it would easily reach half his height. A clear sign of all he would have to endure today.

Subaru: [Why the hell are there so many documents today?! I thought I made good progress the day before yesterday…]

Prisca: [Fool… do you really think these duties are done once and then vanish? If my judgment is not mistaken, your recklessness ranks lower than filth itself.]

Subaru: [Don’t you get tired of repeating the same insults over and over?! If everything you said were true, you’d have already demoted me to a level worse than garbage.]

Prisca: [And where exactly is the falsehood in my words? Everything this divine being has said comes from clear facts.]

Subaru let out a weary sigh, realizing he wouldn’t be able to take control of the conversation. Prisca, giving little weight to his complaints, turned her full attention back to the task before her. With the discipline she always showed, she began filling out the few documents arranged on her desk, maintaining her usual air of seriousness.

In comparison, Subaru had a huge pile of papers in front of him that seemed to grow every time he blinked. The contrast was ridiculous: while Prisca’s desk was clear and organized, his looked on the verge of collapsing. The living “Tower of Pizza” of documents trembled as if it were waiting for the slightest movement to come crashing down.

Subaru: [How am I supposed to grab the papers on top?!]

Prisca: [Less complaining and more working, little brother. Those documents won’t fill themselves out.]

Grumbling, Subaru silently cursed his own luck. He had no choice but to sit down and get to work on imperial matters. The Benedict household managed vast lands, with villages and even cities under its care, and that responsibility always ended up showing itself in endless piles of paperwork.

The problem was that even the smallest event could multiply the tasks, and that was exactly what was happening now. Trying to take the first sheet from the tower in front of him, Subaru watched as the whole stack began to give way until it came crashing down. The crash was enough to bring down his hopes of finishing early along with it.

Subaru: [Well… there went my hopes of finishing soon.]

Subaru’s gaze reflected pure regret, carefully following how each sheet, each document, fell one after another until they touched the floor. Even with those eyes that, because of their intensity, gave off a sense of menace—even when he wasn’t doing anything—it was impossible not to notice the exhaustion and laziness of having to start over.

He knew he would have to face the work again, without rest. Now it wasn’t just a task: he had to shoulder two responsibilities, as head of House Benedict and, on top of that, as janitor.

Arakiya: [Prince, I know I don’t understand many things… but why do I have to keep this stuck to my body?]

Subaru: [I’m sorry, oh Arakiya-chan. I know clothes really bother you… but since we’re outside, I can’t risk others seeing you in a… different way.]

Arakiya: [Different? What do you mean by different?]

Subaru: [Y-you know what, never mind! Let’s just keep walking calmly, enjoying the scenery, while I hold the hand of the prettiest girl in the whole wide world!]

Arakiya: [Whole… wide world? I don’t understand, but if that makes you happy, then it makes me happy too.]

Arakiya tilted her head slightly, unable to shake off the confusion those words gave her. Her prince always did the same thing when they were alone: blurting out phrases about “beauty” or “the best in the world.” She still struggled to understand why he would say such things.

Once, she had even dared to ask the princess about the reason behind those sudden expressions that always caught her off guard.

Prisca: [It would be better if you refrained from wasting energy on such trivialities. A woman like you, with such beauty, should not wrinkle her forehead trying to decipher such an incompetent being.]

Those were the words Prisca-sama used to give her. And although Arakiya didn’t fully understand them, she managed to grasp what they truly meant: that she shouldn’t think too much about it. That was the clearest summary of what the princess wanted to tell her.

That’s why, in the end, she didn’t dwell on it any longer. She simply enjoyed the moment, walking hand in hand with her prince, without worrying about so many details. As long as he was happy and safe, she would be too.

Subaru, on the other hand, coughed a little to ease the embarrassment of having to explain such things. Arakiya didn’t understand much, and even he doubted that a matter of such magnitude could fit into her small, adorable head.

But either way, he didn’t like—and wouldn’t like—explaining it.

Subaru: [The town seems happier than usual today, doesn’t it?]

Arakiya: [Yeah… I think? I feel like the atmosphere here is calm; no signs of future assassins either.]

Subaru: [Hey! Weren’t you supposed to not be talking about protecting me and stuff this time? Just enjoy it.]

Arakiya: [You’re right, my prince. Sorry for my incompetence, I’ll punish myself by breaking my fingers for disobeying your orders.]

Subaru: [A very medieval kind of punishment, don’t you think?!]

Once again, confusion appeared on Arakiya’s face, disoriented at not being able to make up for her incompetence in fulfilling her prince’s orders.

Subaru tried to make her understand that she shouldn’t take everything so literally, grabbing her wrist and moving it in the opposite direction to stop her from hurting herself unnecessarily in the near future.

While the two siblings chatted about things they considered very important, the town, filled with a considerable number of people, watched curiously at the lighthearted and calm conversation they were having.

This town, like many others within their territory, knew well who their lord and lady were. When the death of their predecessor, Sandra Benedict, was announced, the news spread through the whole domain bringing an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty. Nobody knew what kind of ruler they would get, and most expected the worst.

However, the opposite of what they feared happened. Instead of receiving a cruel ruler who would drag them into misery, they were lucky to have kind young leaders who earned the people’s trust.

Arakiya: [Medieval… times? What’s that?]

Subaru: [You know what, forget it; it’s just another one of my nonsense remarks.]

Arakiya: [Hmmm… alright.]

“Nonsense remarks” were one of the many things Arakiya found impossible to understand about her master, but he seemed to like using that word a lot. Even the princess always described him that way whenever he used expressions that not even, she could comprehend.

But ignoring those “nonsense remarks,” the two kept walking through what looked like a small village.

This village was located right in the middle of a forest—not too dense, but dense enough not to be seen at first glance. The Benedict house controlled this settlement, their own territory.

This place, right on the borders of the Benedict domain, was one of the many locations under Subaru and his sister’s administration. Both of them handled politics, economy, resources, and order, dividing responsibilities but always working together to keep everything under control.

A peaceful village right at the edge of their domain.

Arakiya: [Prince, my powers are running out.]

Subaru: [Eh? Already?]

Arakiya: [I’m very sorry, Dravien-sama. I wasn’t able to ‘devour them’ this morning.]

Arakiya bowed deeply, her face showing evident regret at the suddenness of the situation. It was supposed to be just a simple “walk” to relax a little—at least that’s what the prince had said—but in the end she ended up interrupting what she considered valuable time.

Subaru didn’t really care much about that detail. What truly surprised him was that Arakiya hadn’t “devoured” them that morning to maintain her abilities, as was usually her habit.

Subaru: [It’s fine. The best thing is for us to go somewhere where we’ll be alone.]

Arakiya: […Understood.]

Without arguing, they changed the direction they were walking and began moving forward hand in hand. They left the village through the main gate, calmly bidding farewell to the guards stationed there, telling them they would return later.

…

Walking slowly down the village path, Subaru and Arakiya moved away hand in hand, distancing themselves from the people still busy with their tasks. It wasn’t because they had finished what they were supposed to do—in fact, they hadn’t even started. The reason for leaving had nothing to do with duties, but with a personal matter of Arakiya’s.

Looking closely, it was clear how restless she was. Her expression was cautious, as if she were focused on something she couldn’t get out of her head. Her eyes narrowed sharply, wrinkling her small forehead, and one could tell she was searching for something she felt she had lost within herself.

Subaru: [It still surprises me how defensive she gets every time she runs out of spirits.]

He thought out loud, analyzing her behavior.

He had noticed that reaction before, and though he tried to understand it, he always ended up reflecting on the same thing. Arakiya’s behavior wasn’t mere whim; she had said she had no spirits left, and that’s why she was so unsettled.

The truth was, Arakiya was a spirit devourer. Those beings, as their name suggested, could be absorbed and digested, allowing the one who consumed them to gain their attributes and abilities. It was a strange power, but a real one.

If someone devoured a water spirit, they could transform their body into liquid, moving through rivers and lakes at speeds impossible for a human. If you devoured a wind spirit, you could turn into air, useful for escaping or hiding from others.

The tribe of spirit devourers had long since disappeared. Almost no one even knew of their existence, and the only known survivor was precisely her—Arakiya.

That was also the reason for her way of dressing. She always wore revealing clothes, not out of preference, but because it allowed her to attract spirits. These beings rejected objects made by humans, and if she wore normal clothes, her connection with them would be cut off.

She would lose the ability to attract them, and with that, her powers. That’s why, most of the time, she was forced to dress that way, even though it wasn’t appropriate for her age.

…

Subaru: […Okay. I think from this distance people can’t see us anymore.]

Stopping in his tracks, Subaru glanced behind him to make sure they were far enough from the village to carry out Arakiya’s intention.

Once he confirmed the area was safe, he gave his younger sister the go-ahead to begin the act. The operation to absorb a spirit’s abilities.

Subaru: [You can take it off now, Arakiya.]

Arakiya: [Alright.]

Confirming what her master had said, Arakiya let go of his hand and began to undress.
That way, she would have the ability to protect one of the dearest people in her life, and then—
…
Subaru: […Eh? W-wait, you haven’t even taken off your clothes yet, how is that even possible?!]

The sharp cry of genuine astonishment and shock pierced Arakiya’s ears. The scream was so high-pitched that anyone could have mistaken it for a woman’s, though her limited mind didn’t even consider such a comparison.

First, because she lacked the capacity to link two things so different. And second, because all her attention was fixed on the reason why her master had shouted in such an unexpected way.

In front of them appeared a small green sphere, tinier than the palm of a hand. It floated in the air, spinning rapidly, moving in circles around the two of them.

Even for Arakiya, that was strange.
She possessed the ability to attract spirits, she knew that clearly, but this ability came with a condition: she had to wear as little clothing as possible to lure them successfully. She hadn’t had the time to prepare for any of that.

And yet, there was the spirit, shining with a presence that defied the unwritten rule of her power. It seemed not to care about what usually had to be fulfilled, as if it had decided to appear of its own will, ignoring any restriction altogether.

On the other hand, Subaru was just as, or even more, shocked than she was. He knew perfectly well about his sister’s abilities to attract such creatures, but for one of them to be so close without fulfilling the main condition truly left him perplexed.

Well… he didn’t have much time to think about it, because a small hand shot out quickly toward the spirit, catching it successfully.

Seizing the spirit and bringing it straight to her mouth, Arakiya swallowed it in one bite. It was clear that this spirit had a wind nature, and for her, that posed no problem at all.

Arakiya: [Nom Nom Nom]

That was the usual way she obtained its qualities: by literally eating them. There was no ritual or complicated preparation, just the direct, natural action that was already part of her life.

But for Subaru, the sudden appearance of a spirit—one that should have been impossible to approach them—combined with Arakiya’s unexpected action left him with no time to process the situation properly.

Arakiya: […I feel stronger now, Prince.]

Subaru: [Oh… really? I’m very happy for you, truly. But… aren’t you at least going to wonder how a spirit came close to you without you taking off umm… your clothes?]

Arakiya: [Hmmm… I don’t know. With these clothes I can’t attract them, so I have no idea what could have caused this.]

Subaru: [Are you suggesting it was pure coincidence that the spirit appeared here?]

Arakiya: [Yes, I think… yes? I’m not sure.]

Faced with this strange occurrence, Subaru decided to ask Arakiya if she had any idea of what had happened, since she was practically the “expert” in these kinds of situations. However, seeing that she also had no answers, Subaru could only draw a superficial conclusion: everything that had happened seemed to have no explanation other than simple coincidence.

Although he wasn’t entirely convinced, he had no choice but to accept that, for now, there was no way to fully understand it.

After “swallowing” the spirit, Arakiya felt the energy flow through her body again. Even with the uncomfortable clothes her lord had forced her to wear, she already felt confident enough to face anyone who might try to harm her.

Subaru: [Well, now that we’re done here, we’d better head back to the village to—]

Arakiya: [Burp…]

Subaru: […]

Arakiya: […]

…

…

Subaru: [Wait a second. Did you just… burp?]

Arakiya: [What? No, that wasn’t—Burp.]

…

…

Subaru: [Awww, how cute! Really, really, really. Gross and inappropriate… but still adorable! Arakiya-chan is the best in the whole wide world!]

Arakiya: [Awww… Prinnnnnnnnnnceeeeee…]

A small burp escaped from Arakiya’s lips, and that alone was enough to trigger an unexpected reaction in Subaru. That detail, which anyone else would have overlooked, became the spark for a tender and affectionate attitude from him toward her.

Without thinking too much, Subaru wrapped his arms firmly around Arakiya’s waist and lifted her abruptly into the air, spinning her around again and again while holding her. His expression was a mix of clumsiness and sincere affection, the same he always showed to someone he considered his second sister.

Arakiya, surprised by the sudden movement, couldn’t suppress a startled squeal. The direct contact with Subaru, the prince she had sworn to follow, left her in a position where she couldn’t react as she normally would. Her instincts reminded her that escaping his grip would be easy; just the slightest effort on her part would be enough to break free.

And yet, she didn’t. Not because she was forced to stay there, but because something about that moment felt different. There was a special reason, hard to explain, that drove her to go along with that strange, intimate gesture without offering any resistance.

…

Arakiya: […if the prince and the princess are happy, then I will be too.]

That was the simple thought that crossed her small mind. She had never fully understood many of the things that happened before her, and truthfully, it had always been that way. However, she was sure of one thing she would never doubt: she would not lose her way as long as she could follow those two individuals, because in them she found the certainty that moving forward was the right thing to do.

Her “Sun” and his “Moon.”

That is her only reason to live, the only motive for which her life still remains in this world. It is the direct cause that allows her to keep existing one more day, to get up and go on. They are two fundamental pillars, so solid that nothing seems to weaken them; no matter the context or circumstances, they always remain firm and present.

That is how she sees the most important people in her life. To her they are like her prince and princess, the ones who carry her identity, support her and give real meaning to everything she does. They are her constant support, her silent drive, the foundation upon which all she is rests. Two pillars so great and decisive that never, under any circumstances, would she trade them for anything in the world.

Subaru: [Is this really… happening?]

The tone of his voice was much softer than usual, a clear sign that what he had seen had left him shocked, even unsettled. It wasn’t a rhetorical question, nor was it laced with the sarcasm he often used to disguise his words. It was a genuine doubt, born from the deepest part of him. There was a sincerity that left no room for jokes.

His wide-open eyes reflected precisely what he felt: surprise, fear, and a kind of rejection he couldn’t hide. It was as if his own body had reacted before his mind, trapped in that mixture of tension and confusion he could not control.

Prisca: [Ho, you arrived earlier than I expected. I suppose such duties were concluded in a formidable manner.]

While Subaru was still trying to process the whirlwind of emotions that struck him after what he had just witnessed, a presence impossible to ignore dominated the atmosphere. The radiance falling upon that place completely seized his attention. He slowly turned his head toward the direction of the voice, and then he saw her.

It was Prisca.

She was sitting in a chair, her posture exuding arrogance and confidence. Her crimson eyes calmly observed the two visitors who had dared enter the mansion’s library. One leg crossed over the other, with the poise of someone who felt like the absolute master of the place.

However, despite how imposing that image was, there was something impossible to overlook: a heavy, penetrating stench filled every corner of the place. The very air seemed laden with death.

A little further ahead, just a few meters from her, several human bodies lay sprawled on the ground. A trail of reddish liquid, still fresh, slid between the corpses, disturbingly contrasting with Prisca’s eyes.

They were corpses.

Not one, not two. Many—enough to cover a large part of the library floor. Their dark clothing revealed that those men had come prepared, but none of them had succeeded.

Subaru: [Damn it, it happened again… and worst of all, I let Prisca-tan handle all the dirty work.]

A thought of frustration and confusion crossed Subaru’s mind as he looked at the scene before him: a massive pile of corpses surrounded his sister. One look at the fallen men’s clothes was enough to confirm the obvious: they were assassins, mercenaries hired by some third party with a single purpose—to eliminate their target.

And those targets, as always, were the two of them: Prisca and Subaru.

But what Subaru knew very well was that this cycle of pursuit and death never ended. Every time one group was eliminated, another took its place.

Subaru knew this. He had always known it. From the first time he took a life with his own hands, he understood these scenes would repeat again and again until the fragile candle of his existence was extinguished. And yet, no matter how much he tried to convince himself, he couldn’t look at those bodies without feeling at least some regret for the fate they had met.

But then, among that heap of corpses, his gaze stopped.

Someone was there.

Not an enemy, not a stranger, but a familiar face. A body that, though not close enough to hold a place in his heart, was someone dear enough he would never want harmed.

Subaru: [No… this can’t be…]

Prisca: [Hmmm? What is it, little brother? Your face looks even more pathetic than what these lovely eyes usually behold.]

Prisca carefully observed Subaru’s expression, calmly analyzing each gesture. It wasn’t the first time something like this happened: many of her servants had died as collateral damage during assassins’ attacks, and in other cases those very servants turned out to be traitors conspiring against her and her brother.

This time, it was the first case.

The maid, Minda, had the misfortune of being caught in the middle of the situation. Just as she was carrying out her duty, serving her mistress, she was caught in an ambush.

A dozen assassins, hidden in the library’s corridors and corners, had prepared to finish Prisca. However, she reacted with the same firmness that had always defined her, eliminating the attackers in a matter of seconds.

Even so, no matter how quick and precise Prisca’s action was, Minda failed to protect herself. The clash had cost the maid her life.

Prisca: [Oh… now it all makes sense.]

Subaru: [Yeah… I liked Minda, you know? Calm, diligent in her work, and easy to talk to. But… I never thought her life would end like this.]

His tone was a strange blend of regret and frustration. As in so many past occasions, when he had grown fond of a servant only to later find them dead, this time his expression bore pity and sorrow, though not in an overwhelming or dramatic way.

Prisca observed that moment carefully. Her brother, reckless as always, had the absurd habit of forming bonds with those who served him, even knowing many of them could take his life at any moment.

Each time one of them fell in battle or ended up dead, he suffered. It pained him to see them that way, he held back tears as best he could, and then lamented having let things end like that.

But now…

Prisca: [You know, I find it curious. Before, you would lament the fate of those traitors, but now look at you. You’re barely reacting, not a single tear for her, even though you grew fond of her.]

Subaru did not move at the direct statement his sister had just thrown at him. His arms, legs, even his head had remained motionless since the moment he had entered the library.

His eyes were fixed on the corpse, but the way he looked at it didn’t show true importance. Rather… he seemed to be processing and reflecting on his sister’s words.

Prisca: [It’s surprising, I’d even say that, at last, your reckless self isn’t breaking apart over these things. Could it be that I can finally say you’ve matured?]

Subaru: [Wait… are you implying that I’ve matured?]

Subaru’s reaction was understandable. His question carried an incredulous tone, as if it were difficult for him to accept what he had just heard. His sister, who usually coated her tongue with venom instead of affection, seemed to be recognizing some maturity in him.

For Subaru, hearing something like that from her was almost as strange as the situation they were in.

Subaru: [Maybe… maybe you’re right. Since those days, back when we were at that birthday, I’ve felt a little less… overwhelmed?]

Prisca: [Excellent, at least you’re growing up, and not just in size.]

She mocked the “obviousness” of the situation as she rose from the seat where Subaru had found her moments earlier. She walked with firm steps down the cold hallway, covered in blood and corpses that still filled the air with a heavy silence.

Her crimson eyes never left him, piercing Subaru’s own as if trying to dig into him. It was clear she had something in mind.

Subaru: [Yeah… I think you’re right. With everything that’s happened, I think it made me realize a truth I didn’t want to accept at first.]

His eyes were on the maid, Minda, but in reality his thoughts were elsewhere. He reflected on why he didn’t feel as much sorrow and pain as he had in many previous cases.

Every servant he grew attached to, days or weeks later he would always find dead—or trying to kill him. It was as if the universe conspired against him to strip away those reckless and naïve thoughts from his head.

However, right now he still felt such grief, but in a less intense way, as if his mind were slowly growing accustomed to the truth surrounding him.

Prisca: [But… don’t you think you still need to cultivate further development in other topics?]

Now just two steps away from her brother, Prisca stopped abruptly, locking her crimson eyes on Subaru’s. There was a heavy, uncomfortable silence, long enough to make him swallow hard. The tension in the air was palpable, and Subaru could feel his breathing becoming more irregular.

For a moment, he thought he was imagining things, but no… there was something in his sister’s eyes. A spark, a strange gleam that didn’t appear often in her. It was odd, too odd, and he couldn’t tell what was causing it.

…No, there was no need to deceive himself. When he forced himself to meet Prisca’s gaze, he immediately understood who was causing that gleam. And, even if he wanted to deny it, he knew it was himself.

Prisca: [Therefore, my divine being shall grant you the grand and unique opportunity to cultivate your pathetic mind with the wisdom of this divine self.]

The intensity in her eyes grew, and with it the smile slowly forming on her lips. There was something calculated in that expression, as if she were savoring every second of the discomfort her brother couldn’t hide.

Prisca: [It would be best for your pathetic self to make the most of what this divine being will grant you. My time is not wasted on trivialities, so you had better surpass my expectations.]