Dracye did not move, his silhouette was stark against the faint glow of the brazier.
The hooded man's tone carried the weight of both loyalty and fear. He feared if Dracye ignored him now, there would be no turning him back. And so, as a last attempt to check him, he said again,
"Your Majesty may recall what the Prime Minister said before he departed. His words were clear 'Do not provoke. Do not reveal.'"
"Do not provoke. Do not reveal." Dracye echoed the words softly, his gaze still fixed on the dark horizon. "Wise words."
The hooded figure, lifted his head slightly, with the lamplight brushing over the edge of his hood. Beneath the shadow, only his eyes were visible: sharp, silver-gray, reflecting the faint glow of the flames. He was a man born for silence and molded by it.
With a quiet breath, he pushed the hood back, perhaps to better meet his liege's gaze without any shadow between them. It was a small gesture of defiance.
Dracye's lips pulled up faintly, catching the gesture.
Though the hood was gone, the lower half of his face still remained veiled by a dark cloth. His words hung heavy in the air.
"Your Majesty, walking into that kingdom could be seen as both."
"That's why I'm going in alone." Dracye said, his voice edged with quiet amusement.
"JUST. MY. EYES." Dracye emphasized the words with a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. The remark carried an unmistakable tease, aimed squarely at the man before him: after all, only his eyes were visible beneath the dark cloth that concealed the rest of his face.
Underneath the veil, his expression tightened, he replied,
"Your Majesty's eyes alone might still start a war. What if someone recognizes you?"
Dracye fully turned toward him, he gave him a smile that was more threat than reassurance.
"Then let them," he said. "If a single glance at me is enough to shake their walls… perhaps they deserve to fall."
The veiled man's eyes remained carefully neutral, but the tension in his stance betrayed his worry. He had turned reluctantly giving a silent concession to his liege's insistence.
When he returned, reins in hand, his voice was quieter, almost pleading. Even as he held the reins out to Dracye, he did not surrender his voice. Because of his closeness to Dracye, a position both privilege and burden, he allowed himself one last attempt to stop him.
"Your Majesty," he said quietly, almost urgently, "this is folly. You don't need to risk yourself for curiosity. Send me instead."
But Dracye only laughed, low and amused, the sound curling like smoke in the night. He stepped closer, reached out and with a gesture both intimate and commanding, patted the man's shoulder with his gloved hands.
"Curiosity?" he said, almost to himself. "No. Curiosity is gentle. This… this is instinct."
And without waiting for a reply, he took the reins, swung into the saddle with fluid ease and settled atop the restless horse.
Dracye's gaze dropped briefly to the standing man,
"I didn't even know about it's existence," he murmured, almost to himself. "That's the problem. A land that resourceful, that rich and I somehow overlooked it all this time? No. I need to see it. With my own eyes. I want to know what that kingdom hides beneath its silk and smiles."
The veiled man finally gave in, shifting slightly, his hand brushing near the hilt of his blade as though half-expecting trouble to erupt.
"And if Prime Minister Vaelthron returns while you're gone…? What exactly do I tell him?"
"Hmm...Tell him I went for a hunt," he said, his tone casual, almost teasing while adjusting his gloves.
The man arched a brow, asked "And when he asks what you were hunting?"
Dracye's smile returned, "Tell him… I'll be back. Well-fed."
With that, he spurred the horse forward, its hooves slicing through the dry earth as a strange, glitching hiss followed faintly in his wake.
zzk… zzzk… zkkk.
The man, known to most only as Azazel, remained behind, standing alone in the fading darkness. His face was drawn tight with unspoken tension as he watched the young emperor vanish into the distance. The horse's departing silhouette flickered against the dim horizon before being swallowed by the night.
Azazel exhaled slowly, his breadth nearly lost beneath the whisper of the night wind. His mind was already at work calculating, weighing outcomes, tracing the ripple of consequences that would follow his liege's sudden, reckless departure. How was he to explain again their missing emperor? What new chaos would this midnight venture stir?
But beneath the worry, something heavier pressed at his thoughts. It wasn't fear of foreigners in enemy territory that knotted his chest, it was the shadow of what Dracye might uncover beyond the empire's borders.
He lingered there long after the hoofbeats had faded, eyes fixed on the path his sovereign had taken. Plans began forming in silence in his head, the contacts he would summon, the messages needed to be send, the precautions to weave before dawn.
At last, with his decision made, Azazel drew his hood once more, shrouding his face in darkness. Without a sound, he stepped backward and melted into the shadows from which he had first appeared.
***
The wind shifted with each passing hour sharp and biting when night settled in, hot and dry beneath the noon sun but Dracye rode without pause. His long black hair were now tied in the fashion of Elarion merchants, streamed behind him like a dark banner.
Dust clung to the hems of his shirt and boots, but even travel-worn, the disguise was impeccable. He wore the garments his sparrows had prepared after Azazel, no matter how reluctant though he was about this reckless venture, sent word ahead by swift birds of his sovereign's sudden journey. His shirt was loose, white linen open deep at the collar. Over it sat a fitted vest of deep brown, the kind favored by Elarion's wealthier traders. Two star-shaped clasps pinned it across his chest, it was an disguise modest enough to pass without question, yet rich enough to ensure no guard or gatekeeper would dare sneer.
Nothing of his usual regalia remained with this young adult. Only a single silver earring, glinting faintly on his left ear, whispered of the man beneath the disguise.
That was why Dracye kept Azazel close because even in his disapproval, his old companion ensured everything was ready. And that unshakeable reliability, made him invaluable. A full night bled into day, then night came again and still Dracye pressed onward, riding with the unyielding patience of a predator that knew its prey had nowhere to run.
The rest of him was a ghost of the emperor he had been previous night. His cloak, his insignia, the gleaming sword engraved with Vortalis's crest—all left behind. The silence that wrapped around him was almost disorienting, yet oddly freeing. He could hear the creak of his saddle, the rhythmic snort of his horse, the low hum of the insects hidden in the grass. Somewhere far behind him, an owl called once, and the sound vanished into the dark.
And all the while, the same thought gnawed at him, louder than the rhythmic hoofbeats carrying him forward.
Elarion. The name alone lingered in his mind like smoke, clinging and impossible to shake. Why did it call to him so insistently? What was it that stirred in his chest every time the word crossed his thoughts?
He could not name it. Perhaps it was a voice hidden in the air, a song woven too faint for mortal ears. Perhaps it was a scent unfamiliar, yet aching with a strange familiarity, as though he had known it all his life without ever breathing it in. Or perhaps it was deeper still, the soil itself, whispering in secret to his blood, daring him to come closer.
His horse moved tirelessly beneath him, hooves striking rhythm against earth and stone, carrying him through forests and across narrow bridges worn smooth by time. The skies shifted above clouds breaking, rains drifting like mist, sunlight spilling in cruel bursts yet Dracye rode on, scarcely aware of the changing hours.
The road is long, the sun cruel, the night endless, he thought, his gaze fixed ahead. But when you chase something worth owning… the cold doesn't matter. Neither does sleep.
Elarion's name echoed like a pulse in his blood, steady and demanding. It was no longer just a place on the map. It had become a presence that threaded through his every breath.
I want to set my foot on that land… to feel the warmth of that untouched world. To bind its golden legend to Vortalis- to me.
He could almost see it now, the golden spires glinting, the scent of foreign blooms carried by the wind. Every thought of it drew him tighter, like a moth circling the flame it could not resist.
And when I do, the world will know, that kingdom, its glory, its beauty all of it will bear only one name.
Mine.