(Before the End, I Returned)
Chapter 3
(Same day, night before dinner)
Pryan lay quietly in his room, staring at the ceiling after returning from the mountain.
His chamber was located in Heir Doom, a wing connected to the Main Palace and reserved for the royal successor. Though separate, it stood close enough that the palace lights still reached his windows, casting faint shadows across the stone walls.
The room was silent.
For the first time in a long while, Pryan breathed calmly. He was not rushing his thoughts or forcing change. Instead, he allowed himself to sink into the warmth of the familiar space, letting the stillness settle around him.
He placed a hand over his chest and felt his heart beating steadily. There was no fear in its rhythm. No urgency. Only a quiet, unfamiliar peace.
I still can't believe this is the same place, Pryan thought. The place where I spent so many years carrying the weight of this land.
This was not where the fighting had begun, but where responsibility had crushed him the most. From these halls, he had made decisions, judged disputes, issued orders, and tried to hold Ardmere together as its lord. Because of its strategic position, Heir Doom had become the final refuge when everything else fell, the last place to stand before the Five Supreme Beings erased it from existence.
I failed to protect the peace I inherited, he thought quietly.
His father had been gone long before he was ready to rule, leaving him with a title heavier than he could bear. And his mother… she had died in an accident born not of fate, but of his own negligence. A moment overlooked. A choice delayed. A responsibility misunderstood.
Pryan closed his eyes, his fingers curling slightly against his chest.
Strength wasn't enough, he realized. And learning too late cost me everything.
In the war against the Supreme Beings, one name had surfaced again and again in reports and headlines.
The Viserk Academy.
It had been spoken of as the greatest academy of its era, a place where talent was refined and connections were forged. Pryan had never seen its halls with his own eyes. He had failed the entrance exam once, and after that, he had never tried again.
Not because he lacked ambition.
Because he had given up.
The thought tightened his chest. In the years that followed, he had learned swordsmanship and magic through hardship and necessity, piecing together fragments of knowledge without guidance. The core principles had been the same for everyone, but without a teacher, every step had cost him time, pain, and mistakes.
Too late, he had realized back then. Always too late.
"No," Pryan said quietly.
He rose from the bed and walked to the window, looking out at the city below.
"This time, I won't turn away."
For this land.
For the people he loved.
For himself.
He returned to his bed and sat down slowly. Only then did another memory surface—Alferd's voice, faint but clear.
Imagine.
Pryan frowned slightly.
"…But how am I supposed to begin?"
Pryan exhaled slowly.
A clue, he thought. Just one.
He didn't expect answers. Not yet. But somewhere in this palace, in its records or forgotten corners, there had to be something he had overlooked before. Even a fragment would be enough to start differently this time.
A soft knock broke the quiet.
"Young Lord Pryan," a gentle voice called from beyond the door. "Dinner is ready."
Pryan turned toward the sound.
"Come in."
The door opened carefully, and a young maid stepped inside, holding the handle with both hands as if afraid of making noise. She had chestnut-brown hair tied neatly behind her head and wore the simple uniform of the household staff. Her movements were practiced but warm, her eyes carrying familiarity rather than formality.
"My name is Lina, my lord," she said with a small bow. "I've been assigned to attend to you from today onward."
Pryan nodded.
"I'll be there shortly," he replied.
Lina smiled, visibly relieved, and bowed once more before stepping back and closing the door behind her.
The room fell quiet again, but the stillness no longer felt heavy.
Later, Pryan thought. I'll find it later.
He stood, straightened his clothes, and followed the corridor lights toward the dining hall.
The hall was warmly lit when he arrived.
At the head of the table sat Arel Gwanar, Viscount of Ardmere, his posture composed, his presence calm and steady as ever. He looked less like a lord here and more like a man at ease within his own home.
Beside him sat Pryan's mother, Lady Elara Gwanar, her expression soft as she noticed Pryan enter. She wore no elaborate regalia, only a simple gown that reflected her preference for comfort over display. Her eyes, kind yet observant, lingered on her son a moment longer than necessary.
"You're late," she said gently, though there was no reproach in her voice. "Did the mountain tire you?"
Pryan shook his head and took his seat.
"No, Mother."
At Arel's side stood Marven, the family's butler, a tall man with silver-threaded hair and a voice as precise as his movements. He served the dishes without a word, his presence almost blending into the room itself—efficient, unobtrusive, ever watchful.
The meal began quietly.
Conversation drifted to ordinary matters: the harvest, a repaired road near Ardenfall, a merchant dispute settled without incident. Pryan listened more than he spoke, committing every small detail to memory. This was the life he had once taken for granted. The warmth of shared meals. The comfort of voices that had once been lost.
At one point, Elara reached out and brushed a crumb from Pryan's sleeve.
"You've grown quieter," she said, smiling. "That's not always a bad thing."
Pryan looked at her, really looked at her, and nodded.
"I was just thinking," he replied.
Arel watched him for a moment, then spoke evenly. "Thinking is good. Just don't let it steal your appetite."
A faint smile tugged at Pryan's lips.
The food was warm. The hall was bright. And for now, the world was at peace.