After hearing everything, Caspian expected to feel shaken.
Surprisingly… he wasn't.
He had never known his father. Whatever happened to Michael felt distant, like a story from another life.
But what did affect him—
What made something hot and violent coil in his chest—
Was his mother.
The years of quiet abuse. The isolation. The way she had carried guilt that was never hers.
That was unforgivable.
Draconic rage flared instinctively, raw and overwhelming. Caspian clenched his fists until blood welled from his palms, forcing himself to breathe.
"How dare they treat you like that?" he growled. "Driving you away was bad enough—but what they did after you came back?"
His jaw tightened.
"Pieces of shit."
Sera reached out and took his large hand in both of hers. The warmth, the softness of her touch grounded him in a way nothing else had.
"It's alright," she said gently. "Truly. I'm just glad you're better… and that I was finally able to tell you the truth about your father."
Her eyes didn't waver.
"And about your mana," she continued softly. "It was special… too special. It hurt you. It could have killed you. And that was because of me."
Caspian shook his head firmly.
"No," he said. "You couldn't have known. And look at me now—I'm fine. Stronger than ever."
He smiled faintly.
"Seems we're more alike than I thought. Both of us carrying around useless guilt."
For a moment, Sera blinked—then laughed lightly.
"Perhaps you're right," she said. "Now come. Let's get you fed."
As they walked through the halls of their private suite, Caspian quickly realised the news of his recovery had spread.
The servants had clearly expected a frail, stumbling prince.
What they got instead was… him.
Shock flashed across faces.
Some recovered quickly. Others stared.
He heard hushed whispers.
"Oh my goodness… the prince is completely healed."
"And so handsome… he'll be a lady-killer for sure."
Caspian's eye twitched.
Absolutely not.
He'd read enough novels to know where that trope went, and he hated it. Twenty wives? Chaos. One demanding partner back on Earth had been enough of a headache.
…Though, he admitted privately, if the right woman came along—
"Don't let their gossip get to you, Cas."
Sera's quiet voice pulled him back as they reached the dining room doors.
"I'm not," he replied evenly. "I have more important things to worry about than the opinions of people that insignificant."
The words sounded colder than he intended.
But they were necessary.
From the original Caspian's memories, he understood something clearly: if he wanted to survive—no, if he wanted to rise—he couldn't afford softness.
That realization felt… natural.
Maybe more natural than it should have.
Perhaps the old Caspian had shaped him more than he liked to admit.
But this world followed a simple rule.
Survival of the fittest.
And Caspian didn't hate that.
He welcomed it.
A world where strength decided your fate was a world he could thrive in—if he was ready.
And after hearing his mother's story, he knew one thing for certain.
No one would ever hurt her again.
If they tried…
He would make them regret existing.
They took their seats at a long table already laden with a lavish feast. Once the servants withdrew, Sera folded her hands and looked at him carefully.
"So," she said quietly. "What happened?"
Her gaze sharpened—not accusing, but knowing.
"And tell me the truth. I don't expect my son to lie to me."
The weight of her words settled heavily in Caspian's chest.
He couldn't tell her the whole truth.
About the system.About the wishes.About not being entirely the same son she remembered.
But he also couldn't lie outright.
As he hesitated, something surfaced in his mind—one small detail from her story that refused to sit right.
Four Sins.
No body.
No announcement.No trophy.No declaration of victory from the demons.
For beings that powerful… silence was strange.
Very strange.
Caspian met his mother's eyes.
"I don't remember everything clearly yet," he said slowly, choosing his words with care. "But when I woke up… it felt like something unfinished finally snapped into place."
Sera stilled, her fingers tightening around her teacup.
"I don't know why," Caspian continued, voice calm but certain, "but I don't think my father is gone."
Her breath caught.
"I don't know where he is," he added quickly. "Or what state he's in."
"But I don't believe he died that day."
The room was silent.
Sera stared at him, eyes trembling—hope and pain warring in equal measure.
After a long moment, she looked away.
"…I stopped allowing myself to think that way a long time ago," she whispered.
Caspian didn't push.
He simply nodded.