"How about you, Rowell?" I continued, eager to shift the focus.
Rowell tilted his head thoughtfully. "Hmm… I'm not quite sure yet, but I want to teach people. I want them to learn the pain and excitement I experience."
"I didn't know you had a secret passion for teaching," Marco said, amusement twinkling in his eyes. Rowell just smirked. "Teach you lot anything? Please. Everyone here is too smart for me to teach you anything new," he replied with an exaggerated sigh.
But as I thought back on their banter, the knot in my chest tightened. Leon, Marco, Rowell… They're good men, in their own way. Am I really okay with lying to people who, for better or worse, have started to feel like something more than just allies? Every joke we shared, every moment of camaraderie—it all felt heavier now, tangled with my own deception. I glanced at Leon, his brow furrowed in concentration. If he knew the truth, what would he think of me? Would he see me as nothing more than a traitor?
I shook off the thought. No. I can't afford these distractions.
"What about you, Marco?" I asked, eager to shift my thought.
"Well, I'm a noble, so obviously, I'm destined to settle affairs and become the lord of my house," he said, leaning back with a grin. "And you?"
I paused, thinking about my dreams for a moment. 'Hopefully, I'll find the key and get back to my world soon. When that happens, I want to travel more, while juggling my work as a designer. Maybe even start my own freelance company... but that's going to take time.'
"I think I need to stick by His Highness's side as his advisor until he learns the heart," I finally said, pretending it was a lighthearted goal. But deep down, it felt more like a burden than I cared to admit.
"Hmm… now that you mention it, those really are complicated," Marco mused. "No wonder it's tough to find the power we're after, but you seem pretty knowledgeable, Tuk."
"Well, it's not that easy to tap into the power of love," I said, struggling to keep a straight face. "But thanks to some folks I knew, I've picked up a thing or two before they, uh, breathed their last." The truth behind that statement hit harder than I expected, and I forced a smile to hide my discomfort.
I cringed internally. Of all the titles in existence, he had to go with 'Love Advisor'? It sounded like I was running a medieval relationship podcast. Did I really look like someone who gave good love advice?
No matter how much I loved romance dramas and novels, love always seemed to avoid me. I used to wonder why it never stirred the same feelings in me as it did in others. Some online friends suggested I might experience the world differently, that maybe I wasn't interested in romantic love at all. The truth is, I don't feel it. I love people, but never in the way they seem to expect.
I glanced at the others, who seemed to accept my vague explanation for now. Mentally, I sighed in relief. As long as I had to play this role, I would. It was oddly fascinating, watching love unfold around me like a staged play. But in the end, it wasn't something I truly understood. The irony wasn't lost on me—being the so-called love advisor with no experience of romantic love.
"Now that I think about it," I mused, tapping my quill against the paper, "why does the prince believe the power comes from the heart of the scroll's owner?"
Leon, in the middle of scribbling notes, paused. His brows knit together in thought before he leaned back. "That's right. You weren't there when we discussed the theories." His gaze drifted toward the ceiling, as if sorting through fragmented knowledge. "The more we decode the scroll, the more we see the word heart—over and over again. Old Elthor legends say that certain individuals were bound to the dragon's essence. Some believe that power still lingers in their bloodlines today."
He hesitated, then added, "Every past owner of this scroll has exhibited a… gift. Abilities that defy explanation."
I frowned. "So the scholars think the dragon's heart literally exists inside someone?"
Marco made a face. "There were theories about checking—" he grimaced, "—examining the hearts of past owners to find proof."
My stomach twisted. "You mean—"
"They never went through with it," Leon interrupted quickly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "No actual proof… yet."
I exhaled, tension easing slightly, but something still felt off. "Wouldn't a dragon's heart be too big for a person to carry? I mean, how massive is this thing supposed to be?"
Leon blinked at me, momentarily thrown. "Wait… you don't know?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Should I?"
He exchanged a glance with Rowell before shaking his head, more to himself than at me. "The dragon isn't just a beast, Tuk. It's a force of creation. A divine essence. The heart people speak of—it's not an organ. It's mana. Life force. That energy binds itself to certain individuals."
I stared at him. That was… different. I had expected something closer to fire-breathing carnage, not an ethereal god-like entity.
Their eyes lingered on me, and unease crept in. Did that question make me look suspicious? My pulse ticked up. How do I steer this away?
"Well," I admitted, scratching my nape, forcing a sheepish chuckle, "I wasn't exactly raised on bedtime stories. I grew up in a merchant's household. I learned to read and write late, and even then, my lessons were mostly about trade."
Rowell shot me a look of quiet sympathy, but Leon's gaze lingered too long. I resisted the urge to fidget.
"You must've worked for a well-educated merchant," he mused. There was something unreadable in his tone, but before I could question it, he continued, "Anyway. The dragon we speak of—its essence was scattered across the world after the Great Fall. Some believe that whoever holds a fragment of that power can reshape the world."
I hesitated. "So… if its essence is scattered, does that mean there could be others with a similar power?"
Leon chuckled, shaking his head. "There's only one. The fragments aren't equal, and most fade over time. But people believe that whoever possesses its essence has the power to reshape the world."
I pressed my lips together. That sounded eerily like what the prince was after.
Before I could dwell on it, the door swung open with a sharp creak.
Lord Nixon stepped inside, his cold gaze scanning the room.
Our eyes met.
I flinched.
"Historian Tuk," he announced. "His Highness the Prince is looking for you."
Me? Why?