Dinner felt like every other night—warm, familiar. The wooden table was scratched and worn, but it was ours. Grandpa sat at the head, eating like he had nothing to worry about, while Sora and Raphael sat close together, like always. Across from them, Lily sat beside me, chewing slowly, lost in her own thoughts.
I tried to focus on my food, but Ignis wasn't about to let me.
Brat, stop wasting time. Leave this place already.
I sighed internally. Can't you see we're eating?
And that's supposed to stop you? You're pathetic. Sitting here stuffing your face like a weakling while real power is out there waiting to be claimed. You make me sick.
Grandpa has something to say. I'm not leaving yet.
Afraid of one measly human? Tch. Weak.
I smirked. Who would win? You or Grandpa?
Ignis went quiet for a moment before scoffing. I don't know.
That was rare. He always acted like he knew everything.
That old man is stronger than most creatures I've met. Even in my prime, I heard whispers of the Reaper. Feared among dragons. A thorn in the gods' side.
That caught my attention. The gods?
Hmph. Your grandfather was a problem for them. He disrupted their little games. Even the otherworlders weren't safe from him.
Otherworlders…? I thought back to some strange weapons I'd seen before. Do you think Grandpa is one of them?
No. Your grandfather is wholly of this world—both in soul and flesh. Unlike you.
I clenched my jaw. I knew what he meant, but I wasn't in the mood for that conversation. Before I could push further, Sora spoke.
"Granduncle, isn't it time to announce what you wanted to say?"
Grandpa finished chewing and set his utensils down with a satisfied sigh. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before looking at us.
"Ah, yes, yes." His gaze swept over us, a glint of mischief in his eye.
He leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table. "Alright, kids. Next summer, I've got something important to take care of." His voice held the weight of something serious, though his expression didn't change much.
"To prepare, I'll be heading back to Dreadholm Nation."
Grandpa's words settled over us like a heavy fog, their weight sinking in too slowly for any of us to react right away. The warmth of our home, the familiar scent of our meal—it all felt a little more distant, as if the room itself had stretched away from me.
Sora sighed, cutting through the silence. "What Granduncle means is that he's finally returning to his duties as a leader. Something he's neglected for far too long." Her tone was sharp, but there was something else beneath it—an old frustration, maybe even resignation.
Lily, her voice small yet firm, looked up at Grandpa. "Won't you come back, Grandpa?"
He gave her a reassuring grin, ruffling her hair like he always did. "Of course, I will—"
"No, he won't," Sora interrupted flatly. Her voice held no room for argument. "He's the leader of a nation, Lily. He can't just leave whenever he wants."
Lily's small hands gripped the edge of the table. "But he always comes back."
I frowned, my gut twisting at the implication behind Sora's words. "Wouldn't it be better if we all went with you?" I asked.
"Absolutely not," Grandpa said, the usual ease in his voice gone. "It's not time for you yet." He leaned back, his expression unreadable. "The only one coming with me will be Raphael."
The room shifted.
Raphael, who had been silent up until now, stiffened. "Why me?"
Sora reached over and placed a hand on his arm. "It's best if you go," she said softly, though there was a certainty in her voice that made it sound more like an order than a suggestion.
Raphael tensed under her touch. "How does that have anything to do with me?" His tone was sharp, but I knew him well enough to hear the unease beneath it.
Grandpa exhaled, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. He studied Raphael for a long moment before speaking. "You'll find out soon enough." His voice had softened, a rare moment of something close to tenderness slipping through. "Don't you want to see someone special? Someone who's been waiting for you far longer than you realize?"
Raphael stilled.
Grandpa's words dangled in the air, just vague enough to be frustrating but pointed enough to strike something deep. "Besides," he continued, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "I have something in store for you. Something that could change everything for you."
Raphael's jaw tightened. "What do you mean?"
"You'll understand when you get there."
Silence.
Raphael's fingers curled into fists on the table. He hated not having answers. "I don't need anything changed," he muttered.
Grandpa just chuckled, but there was no mockery in it. "That's what you think."
Raphael looked like he wanted to argue, but then Lily reached for him, her small hand wrapping around his arm. Even though she couldn't see his eyes, she must've sensed the turmoil rolling off him. "I'll be fine, Big Brother," she said, her voice full of quiet certainty. "I'm strong enough now to take care of myself. You've taught me so much already."
He swallowed hard, and though his blindfold hid his expression, I could see it in the way his shoulders tensed. He wanted to believe her.
"But… what if—"
"You've done enough, Raphael," Sora cut in gently. Her hand was still on his. "Please, just trust us. Granduncle wouldn't take you if it weren't important."
His grip on the table tightened.
The crackling fire was the only sound for a long moment.
Finally, he exhaled slowly. "Fine," he murmured. But the weight in his voice didn't go unnoticed.
Lily beamed, squeezing his arm. "I'll be waiting for you," she said, her usual cheerfulness unwavering, though I caught the slight tremble in her fingers. "So don't worry about me, okay?"
Grandpa clapped his hands together, breaking the tension with his usual carefree tone. "That's the spirit. Trust isn't always easy, but it makes the road ahead a whole lot less bumpy." He turned back to Raphael, and though his voice was light, there was a promise behind it. "And don't worry, kid. You'll see—this journey will be worth it."
And just like that, the conversation was over, yet the unease lingered.
Meanwhile in Balmount castle
The throne room felt unusually heavy, as if even the air held its breath. King Thorn sat on his grand, gilded throne, his fingers tapping anxiously against the armrest. His usual sharp amber eyes flickered with unease, darting toward the queen beside him. Queen Morganna, as poised as ever, held a regal air of quiet fury. The contrast between them was almost comical—her posture stiff and commanding, his slightly slouched, as if preparing for impact.
"My dear wife," Thorn began, flashing what he hoped was a charming smile, "you look radiant today."
Morganna didn't even glance at him. "Is that so?"
"Absolutely." He leaned toward her, lowering his voice into what he imagined was a seductive tone. "In fact, you're so breathtaking that I feel faint just looking at you."
Still, nothing. Her gaze remained fixed on the hall ahead, her fingers barely twitching where they rested on the throne's arm.
Thorn cleared his throat. "You know… perhaps we should take the evening to ourselves. A private dinner, just the two of us?" He shot her a hopeful look. "I can have the finest wine brought in. The best chefs. Candlelight, a soft melody playing in the background…"
She exhaled through her nose, finally turning to him with an arched brow. "And tell me, my dear husband, why would I waste my evening on a man who conveniently 'forgets' to inform me of our daughter's whereabouts?"
Thorn stiffened. "Ah. Well. About that—"
Before he could form a decent excuse, the throne room doors creaked open. The sound, usually grand and dignified, now felt like the slow screech of doom. Rosette entered, her fiery red hair tied neatly back, her lavender eyes holding a carefully measured expression.
"My King, my Queen," she said with a polite bow. "The princess is—"
Thorn frantically gestured behind his back, waving his hands in a wild, desperate motion that only made him look ridiculous. He shot Rosette a pleading look, silently mouthing, Don't say it.
But the maid either didn't notice or simply chose not to care. "—not in the castle," she continued, oblivious to the way Thorn's soul visibly left his body. "She was seen heading to the inner city."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Morganna's gaze snapped back to Thorn, slow and deliberate, her violet eyes burning like amethyst flames. "So. You did know."
"I—uh—" Thorn sputtered. "Instinct?"
"Instinct," she repeated flatly.
He nodded vigorously. "Yes! A father's instinct. You see, when you love your child as deeply as I do—"
Morganna stood.
Thorn immediately stopped talking.
Her sapphire gown cascaded around her as she stepped down from the throne, each movement controlled and terrifyingly graceful. Her heels clicked against the polished floor in slow, deliberate beats, a sound that echoed louder than any battle cry.
Thorn swallowed hard. "Now, love, let's not be hasty."
She tilted her head slightly. "Hasty?"
"I mean, let's look at the bigger picture." He gestured grandly. "Our daughter—our brilliant, curious, spirited daughter—is simply… expanding her horizons."
Morganna did not blink. "Expanding her horizons?"
"Yes! Isn't that wonderful? A young ruler must understand her people. And what better way than firsthand experience?" He gave his most winning smile. "She's practically training to be queen already. A natural-born leader, just like her mother." He laid the flattery on thick, emphasizing the last word.
Morganna hummed, unimpressed. "And yet, for all this 'training,' you neglected to inform me."
"Well, I thought it best not to trouble you, my love." Thorn straightened, attempting to look noble. "You carry the weight of this kingdom so elegantly, so effortlessly—I couldn't bear to add another worry to your already heavy burdens."
Morganna crossed her arms. "Ah, so now I'm fragile?"
Thorn backtracked immediately. "No, no, no, not fragile! Never! You're as strong as the fiercest storm—"
"A storm, is it?"
"A gentle storm! A beautiful storm! Like—like a summer rain that nourishes the earth—"
Morganna's lips pressed into a thin line. Thorn felt the temperature in the room drop by several degrees.
Rosette, wisely, took a step back.
The queen turned on her heel. "Once the knights find her, the princess will have much to explain," she said coolly, her voice carrying an undeniable finality. Without another word, she strode toward the throne room doors.
Thorn, desperate, made one last attempt. "Wait! Darling, don't go yet—why don't we sit and talk about this over that candlelit dinner I mentioned?"
She paused briefly, just enough to give him a fleeting glimmer of hope. Then, without looking back, she said, "Enjoy your dinner alone."
The doors groaned shut behind her.
A long, heavy silence followed.
Thorn exhaled sharply, slumping back into his throne. His fingers ran through his dark hair, mussing the carefully styled strands. He turned to Rosette, his voice dry. "That went well, don't you think?"
Rosette, after a pause, politely cleared her throat. "Shall I instruct the knights to return the princess directly to you, my King?"
Thorn straightened, grasping at what little control he had left. "Yes," he said quickly. "And ensure no trace leads back to me. The queen's wrath is… not something I wish to face."
Rosette inclined her head. "As you wish, my King."
With a last deep bow, she exited, leaving Thorn alone. He sighed, rubbing his temples.
"She needs to learn about the kingdom she'll one day rule," he muttered, trying to reassure himself. "This is for her own good."