February 16, Royal Capital of the Eastern Nation.

A towering castle stood like a mountain near the kingdom’s heart, its walls snaking on and on like a stone dragon. Ten thousand soldiers paced atop them, boots tapping like rain.

A green field banner of the Six Clawed White Dragon fluttered from the tower, scales of cloth rippling like a waking serpent. Seeds Paris planted years ago were breaking soil at last.

He smiled at a dozen envelopes, each pressed with a different crest, like small shields winking in wax. Each letter carried the weight of a regional lord.

They were nobles left over from another age, driftwood swept by the last tide. They’d been cast to the coast’s ragged edges, banished to wind-bitten corners.

“Your Highness, you’ve stirred too loud a wind. Even I’m being suspected. Are we really fine?” The speaker was a man past forty, stubble shadowing a stern, carved face.

His silver hair hung loose like winter frost. His silver-white eyes were cold enough to bite, like ghosts walking out of the snow.

Paris turned his gold ring on his index finger, the band gleaming like a trapped sun. “It’s fine. Time’s a closing jaw. A letter came—Talant tied up his end. If nothing breaks, he moves in March.”

He breathed out, shadow crossing his gaze like a cloud. “Haidra should be close too. We must strike before they come back.” Fear flickered when he said Talant’s name, a chill in the room.

The silver-haired man’s eyes hardened, decision falling like an axe. “Then… advance the plan?”

“Don’t move rashly,” Paris said, voice cool as river stone. “You’re the spine of it. I’ll speak with them one last time.”

The man gripped his pitch-black spear, like midnight turned to iron. His look went strange. “Your Highness, are you still tethered by desire? Mortals can’t grasp a work like this.”

“Only those marked by gods can finish it. Ostos is fated to be a king, not an Emperor.”

Paris didn’t argue. His voice thinned, like a string stretched tight. “I know. I’m going to cut away every dream left.”

“Gods are born to be lonely.”

“We await good news from Your Highness… from Your Majesty.” The man donned black armor that drank the light, eyes burning with a blood-red glow, and walked out of Paris’s castle like a shadow leaving a room.

...

“Elyu, big brother!” Venus dove into Elyu’s arms like a swallow into warm wind.

“Yo-ho-ho…” Elyu caught her and staggered a few steps, the floor creaking like a drum. “Venus, you’re getting strong. I can barely hold you now.”

Venus pushed him away, hands on hips, cheeks puffed like two peaches. “Can you even talk? I’m barely eighty pounds—how could you not pick me up?”

“Hahaha… because Venus inherited your sister’s monster strength.” Ostos strolled in with Penero, laughter rolling like summer thunder into Venus’s palace.

“Ah… Dad, Mom—” Venus ran to them, eyes bright as twin stars.

“Venus, naughty again?” Paris followed, stepping into her sight like a calm blade.

“Big Brother Paris…” Tears spilled, soft and sudden, like a spring rain. It had been seven years since everyone laughed under one roof like this.

...

“Hey now, you’ve had it rough,” Elyu said, palm warm on her head like a gentle sun. “Seven years in this heavy palace.”

Venus closed her eyes, basking, her golden waves of hair trembling. In her gilded gown, she sat with a catlike grace. “Not heavy. I have Aiqi, Aike, and the old master with me.”

“Mrow~” A white Persian cat with sapphire eyes hopped onto her stomach, rubbing fervently like a fuzzy comet.

“Aiqi~” Venus scooped it up, nuzzling it with her cheek, affection spilling like honey.

“Awoo...” A burly shepherd dog sprawled beside her, voice low and jealous, like a drum rolled in the throat.

“Hehehe…” Everyone laughed from the belly, joy bubbling like hot tea.

“If you ask me, it’s Mom’s fault,” Paris said, palm tapping Venus’s head like a blessing. “Peaceful times, yet she built a ‘Palace Protectorate’ and caged Venus in this little nest. It’s time to let her out.”

“She can even start talking marriage. She hasn’t seen the world—how embarrassing.”

“You’re right,” Ostos sighed, smile crooked like a loosened knot. “I argued with her for ages. I’m the king, but when it comes to children, my word’s light. I can’t beat your mother.”

“But you lot aren’t the same. Get Venus out there. Let her see the world’s rivers and markets.”

“I… I was afraid of things getting… chaotic,” Penero murmured, shame flushing her cheeks like dawn. Her worries had penned the girl in too long.

“Marry?! Where—how—no way… I’m still young, only fifteen!” Venus’s face went soft and red, like a warmed apple. She wasn’t thinking about that at all.

“Not that young,” Ostos laughed, voice big as a drum. “Your mom married me at eighteen.”

“You really have the face to say that?” Penero pouted, a playful push. “Back then I was a beauty who could topple a kingdom. If my father hadn’t forced me, who would marry you, you shameless man?”

Ostos’s face fell like a dying ember. “So marrying me was a loss?”

Elyu barked a laugh. “Wasn’t it? You were robbing the cradle.”

“Nice,” Paris said, thumb up, admiration glinting like steel.

“You little brat.” Ostos grinned and snarled, heat and humor mingling. “Back then your dad looked no worse than you, and I was a king. How was your mom wronged?”

“Not true! Dad was a slumped old uncle then, not handsome at all!” Venus ducked behind Penero, eyes dancing like minnows.

“Hey, even you tease your dad?” Ostos lunged, fingers curled like claws. “Don’t think hiding behind Mom works. Come here!”

Penero’s sea-green eyes flashed, a blade of water. “You dare?”

Ostos froze like a statue, breath held in his chest.

“Hahaha...” Several vassals handpicked by Ostos watched the two old livewires, delight blooming like lanterns.

The room swelled with festivity, warmth rising like steam.

...

February 18.

“Whew...” Medith and her team settled their luggage, then mounted the signboard with a clean clack. Their guild branch had finally opened its doors like a fresh gate.

The perks were generous: a daily activity hall for hundreds, tables and chairs lined like ranks. A whole dormitory building too—one-stop service, neat as a new blade.

“Ah—this is so comfy...” Medith flopped onto her room’s soft sofa, her voice stretching like silk.

“Gotta admit, their guild’s loaded,” Melia said, fingers gliding over new furniture and spotless walls, shine bright as glaze.

Peggy sat primly at the bed’s edge, quiet as a willow, watching the girls chatter like sparrows.

“Ah right, we haven’t given our newcomer an ‘initiation’ yet.” Medith’s smile curved, sly as a crescent moon.

The girls traded wicked grins, sparks hopping like firecrackers.

“Hm?” Peggy tilted her head, innocence floating like down. Before she understood, they swarmed her, pressing her onto the bed with a flurry of hands.

“Hey?! Hey-hey-hey?! W-wait… eeyaah—”

Soon, Peggy’s sharp, tingling cries echoed through the empty room like silver bells, ringing on and on, long as a lingering breeze.