---
"Lucien's not bad. They make a good match, those two—always bickering, always laughing, like they can see each other clearer than anyone else. But even then…" Elias sighed, rubbing at his temple. "They're just kids. Friends, maybe more, maybe not. It's their path to walk. But still…" His voice lowered, a whisper meant only for the walls. "Still… she's mine to guard. No one touches her unless I say so."
He slammed the book shut with a snap, shaking the mood away. "Alright, enough of this. Time to bother the king. Wait—did I write him a letter? …No. Of course not. Butler!"
Aaron peeked in a second later, already weary. "Yes, master?"
"Where's your father?"
"Here. What happened?"
"I forgot to write to the king that I was coming," Elias admitted, scratching the back of his neck.
"Already handled," his father said from the doorway, completely unbothered.
"Really? Thank the heavens. I knew I could rely on you." Elias beamed, only to pout when Aaron muttered, "We knew you wouldn't remember."
"Rude," Elias shot back, lips twitching. "Absolutely rude. I'm wounded. Mortally."
" Btw you got any reply from Ren" Elias said before turning.
"No not yet, i will inform you when did," Aaron replied and bowed to Elias before turning away.
Dinner that night was noisy, messy, and perfect. Elias found himself staring more than eating, watching the kids laugh, tease, and argue over who got the last piece of bread. Sometimes he joined in, pouting like the youngest of them all, just to make them laugh louder.
They thought he was strange—he knew it. Sometimes they looked at him like he'd grown two heads when he muttered about futures and stories and red flags. But they still laughed with him, and that was enough.
Later, in the quiet of his room, Elias traced his fingers over the book's cover. "Butterfly effect, huh? If I change things… will I lose my advantage? Or maybe… maybe it'll be more fun. Let's twist it, then. Let's make it better."
He smiled, small and dangerous, before snuffing the candle out. "But no matter what happens… I won't let anyone steal them from me. Especially her."
Sleep claimed him, but his hand still rested protectively on the book, like he was daring the world to try.
---
That night, Elias dreamed.
It wasn't the kind of dream where you know you're dreaming. No—this one smelled of blood and smoke, too real, too sharp. He was fifteen again. The battlefield rang in his ears, his parents' banners burning, their bodies gone. Just gone. He remembered standing there in the wreckage, too young, too old all at once, trying to breathe when the air itself felt like knives.
And then came him.
His uncle. A cousin from his mother's side. Always smiling too sweet, always standing too close, always touching when there was no need to touch. Elias's gut churned just remembering. Even in the dream he felt that crawling revulsion, the way every hair on his neck stood when the man leaned over him and said, "Come with me, boy. I'll take care of you."
Elias didn't. He stayed in Veirdan, buried himself in duties, leaned on servants and knights, anyone who wasn't him. He thought that was enough.
But dreams aren't merciful. They dragged him back to that basement.
The stone floor was damp, the air sour. His wrists ached from rope. The man's shadow stretched over him, long and thin, like a stain you couldn't scrub away. His uncle's smile widened, teeth flashing too white. "You've grown handsome," he said, crouching low, eyes glinting like oil. Fingers reached out, trembling with hunger.
Elias's chest tightened. He wanted to vomit, to claw his own skin off. No. No. Don't. Don't touch me. His throat closed. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying—please, someone, anyone, save me. Tears slipped anyway.
And then… something broke.
A surge. A storm. It rose from his bones, his veins, his very soul. He screamed, the sound cracking his throat, and with it light erupted—raw mana tearing through him, bursting outward like fire and lightning tangled together.
His blindfold slipped in the dream, and his eyes—blue, sharp, merciless—snapped open.
The blast swallowed the room. Stone split. The man's laughter twisted into shrieks, cut short as black fog bled from his skin. It poured out of his mouth, his eyes, his very chest—like something was leaving him, like death itself was dragging him down.
When the smoke cleared, Elias was alone. The body was there, but not him. Never him again.
Blackness folded in. Silence. And he woke.
---
Elias lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, breath sharp and shallow. His hands trembled before he forced them still. "That… was when it started," he whispered. "My sickness. Maybe…"
He remembered—symptoms at eighteen, fever that came and went, shadows at the edge of his sight, that ache in his chest. He had survived thanks to warmth—Veirdan's people, the servants who smiled for him, the knights who never faltered. They kept him tethered. They kept him human.
But still…
Was it only that?
Or something else? Something deeper, crueler. That invisible hand always pushing the "hero" forward. The force that warped destinies, shaped games, turned lives into stories. Could his sickness have been that? Or worse… something greater?
He clenched the sheets, teeth grinding. "No way it was just because. Nothing is 'just because.'"
Yet—warmth returned, even in the fear. He thought of their faces. The children's laughter. Aaron's teasing. His knights' loyalty. The way the people of Veirdan looked at him like he was theirs.
He let out a long breath, chest loosening. "I can't lose myself. Not with them here. Not when they believe in me."
But still, unease curled in his gut. Why now? Why this dream?
"Is it....related to that man from market " Elias whispered.....
The answer didn't come. The darkness held it close, whispering that nothing in his life had ever been random.
---
The morning came with sunlight dripping through his curtains, golden and too bright for eyes that hadn't closed enough. Elias sat up slowly, hand pressing against his temple. His body felt fine, but his chest carried the weight of the night's dream — heavy, sticky, like soot that wouldn't wash off.
But when he saw the children waiting for him at breakfast, all bright eyes and expectant smiles, he smiled back. He wouldn't let shadows cling to them.