“Didn’t expect this many people...” Iling sat on the bed, kneading her burning shoulders like live coals, gulping water with a glug, glug into a dry well.
“Cough... yeah, it’s a bit much.” Medith’s voice rasped like a whetstone on steel; she’d clearly shouted herself raw.
Humans signed up in a rush, a flood at a narrow gate. Medith had planned ahead—take a hundred for now, then winnow the rest like grain.
“Hey, do you think they admire our Guild, or they admire Medith and Sister Sais?” Rita’s tone skipped like a pebble across a lake.
The women traded smiles, a soft breeze rippling grass, answer unknown.
...
“Paris, you’re here.” Elyu sat perched on the east watch terrace of the great hall like a hawk on a ledge.
Paris stood beside him, draped in finery stitched with a roaring white dragon, his face tired as a lamp near dawn.
“Our homeland’s view... really outshines a thousand immortal sanctuaries,” he breathed, mist curling in the cool night.
Just past eight, the Royal Capital blazed like day. Trade sang, drills thudded, kids chased shadows, and guards stamped in cadence across the earth.
Night-market hawkers called within the marked squares like bells ringing in order. Songstresses and dancers held the grand stage, and nobles’ cheers rose like sparks.
“Yeah. This is the world we guard...” Paris’s relief was a warm hearth; he looked pleased with every step he’d taken.
“By the way, my beloved king, you didn’t summon me just for the view, did you?” Paris took the stone bench, filling two cups, wine glowing like lanterns.
Elyu smiled helplessly. “Brother Paris, don’t tease me. There’s no one else here.”
“Hahaha! Then can I call you by name in court? All vassals and nobles—aren’t we one family, roots from the same tree?” Paris grinned.
Warmth flooded Elyu’s chest; Paris’s contagious smile pulled childhood memories back like the tide tugging shells.
“Back then, we caused trouble—barging into the royal war vault, tripping traps, nearly dying down there.
“And climbing the tower, just to clutch the royal banner at the highest point and drink in our land’s finest view...” Elyu’s gaze turned distant, sweet as old wine.
“Hahaha! I remember. If not for clever little Talant, we’d have become the dumbest princes in history,” Paris said, half scared, half fond, like a man back from a cliff.
Elyu shuddered at the name Talant; his hairs bristled as if at a ghost. “Sister Talant... she’s strong.”
“Strong? More than strong—she’s a monster,” Paris scoffed, a knife-smile. “Damn it, I’ve never seen anyone take a full spear from the Erene Guard’s Commander, Starshaker Hipo.
“Sometimes I doubt she’s my sister. I don’t recall Mother giving birth to that kind of little monster...” His laugh had a bite.
“Hahaha... if Talant hears that, she’ll smack your mouth sideways.”
“Oh, come on, she’s not here. And don’t you tell, little brother...”
“Of course I won’t. Still... she’s been gone two months. It should be almost done, right?” Elyu’s eyes held a small, bright hope, like a star under cloud.
Paris kept his face calm, but a few hairs prickled in the dark. “Yeah. A month or so on the road. Add the days of ‘hospitality’... she sets out in February, hits the city in March.”
“I want to see her,” Elyu said softly, the wish light as breath in cold air. Then he shifted. “Paris, I found a clue in a letter Powell left. Take a look.”
Elyu drew a letter from his breast. Paris took it in silence. His eyes skimmed like swallows; three minutes later, he set it down.
“So one of us aided the Segireneto rebels and staged the siege of Sia City. If not for Medith, they’d have pulled it off.
“Powell was threatened. He should die a thousand times, but the one behind him is the one who truly deserves the blade,” Paris said, eyes like drawn frost.
Elyu’s gaze turned odd. “Then who do you think it is?”
Paris let out a cold laugh, tore the letter, and Elyu watched the pieces drift down like ash-snow.
“Elyu, you’re not taking a traitor’s word as gospel, are you?
“If a ‘mastermind’ exists, Powell would know a thing or two, maybe even have met him.
“So why not say it straight? If he wanted to repent, why not atone and hand us the intel?
“He could’ve staged all of this himself. No one knows Sia better than he does.
“And this so-called wife—where is she?
“He knew he’d lose, so he threw out this smoke to turn our heads.
“A traitor is a traitor. Whether he had a fleeting ‘good heart’ or not, the tens of thousands in Sia died because of him. That never changes.”
Elyu’s eyes grew heavy; he took a stiff sip, like swallowing a stone. Paris’s reaction was normal—so normal it felt rehearsed—and that, like a chill draft, worried him.
“As you say. His true intent is unknown, and his treachery stands. A traitor’s words carry no weight, but...”
“Elyu, mercy doesn’t command troops.” Paris’s voice cooled like water over iron. “You’re the king. As your brother and your Grand Chancellor, I have to remind you.”
Elyu was silent, then he nodded. “I know... Leaving him aside—Paris, if this ‘mastermind’ really exists, who is he?
“What does he want?
“Why shake the roots we stand on?”
“He doesn’t exist—best if he doesn’t,” Paris said, drinking like a man pouring sand on a fire. “If he does, I’ll drag him out myself, hang him in the Place of Repentance, and burn him alive.
“May Eunomia endure.”
“May Eunomia endure.” Elyu touched cups with him; the ring of glass was a small bell in the night.
Meanwhile, in the complex behind the palace, a tower-like hall speared upward into the dark like a silent pine...
At its top, an open rooftop spread to all four winds, the view so wide it sat above the palace like a second crown.
From here, the palace’s rear lay bared, the far horizon faint as brushwork. Yet the best view wasn’t around them—it was above, where the sky breathed.
“Dear, the night’s so beautiful...” The former queen, Penero, leaned into Ostos’s solid shoulder, gazing at a sky strewn with stars like spilled salt.
“It is. But a thousand stars can’t match half your shine.” Grand Duke Ostos, styled the First Minister of Creation, held her close, his eyes warm as embers.
