The morning sky was not bright. Heavy clouds swarmed, curling and folding into each other as though the heavens themselves recoiled from what was about to descend upon the land.
Kael stood at the balcony, his frail figure outlined against the dim light. His gaze stretched far into the distance—toward the city. From here, even with his weakened sight, he could see it. The dragon. That monstrous, hollow silhouette of bones cloaked in malice. Already, it had reached the walls.
His heart clenched painfully, pushing him forward, urging him to go. His body screamed to join the battlefield, but a hand anchored him.
"Young master, please…" Robert's voice trembled, his worry plain. He stepped to Kael's side, supporting him though Kael brushed his grip away. "You've just awoken from two weeks of coma. Look at you—you can't even stand properly."
Kael ignored him. His gaze shifted—not to the dragon, not to the sky, but to the bedside. Wrapped carefully in cloth lay the fragmented sword. Only one piece remained before it was whole again.
Robert followed Kael's stare, and his stomach dropped. He shook his head firmly.
"No, young master. Don't even think of it. His Majesty told us to stay here. You'll have your chance to find the last fragment—after he returns." His words carried both loyalty to Reinhardt's order and his own desperate fear.
But Kael's silence was heavy. Robert could feel his master's anger simmering beneath that expressionless mask, and it tore at him.
Kael moved. His steps were unstable, his breath ragged. Robert rushed to catch him before he fell, but Kael shoved him away with unexpected force. The young butler staggered back, stunned.
"I know you're angry with me… with us," Robert said quickly, voice cracking as he steadied himself. He reached toward Kael again, only to stop halfway. "But please, young master… please listen to me. Just this once."
Kael gave him nothing—not a word, not a glance. He walked slowly toward the bed, his hand stretching for the sword. But after only a few steps, his legs gave out. His body crumpled.
"Master!" Robert dashed forward, catching him before his body struck the cold floor. Kael's weight was frighteningly light in his arms, his breath shallow.
Robert's chest ached. He couldn't bear it—this frail boy, once the hero who carried the fate of nations, now unable to stand without help. Yet Kael's eyes… those crimson-tinged eyes burned with unyielding fire, even if his body betrayed him.
Kael's chest heaved. His lips parted, and at last, a whisper escaped him—broken and desperate.
"…please…"
Robert froze. His world stilled. Tears? Falling from Kael's eyes?
It wasn't like the times when Kael had wept uncontrollably in his nightmares, when his body shook and his cries echoed hollowly. No. This was different. These tears came with words that struck straight into Robert's heart.
Kael's trembling hand gripped Robert's wrist tightly. He begged—not as a hero, not as a lord, but as a human being.
Robert's throat tightened. His instincts screamed at him to yield, to release him, to let him follow the path his heart demanded. But another instinct screamed louder—the instinct to protect him, even if it meant becoming the villain in his eyes.
He shut his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. His decision was made.
"I'm sorry, young master."
Robert gently touched Kael's tear-stained cheek, brushing away the drops. He whispered an incantation under his breath. A soft, pale glow wrapped around his fingertips. A sleeping spell.
Kael's body jerked weakly as the weight of the magic pressed upon him. He clutched Robert's collar with what little strength remained. His voice broke.
"No… please… don't do this… They need me…"
His eyes glistened as more tears slipped down his pale cheeks. Robert's vision blurred with his own. Then came the final blow—words that shattered him entirely.
"…Please… Robert…"
The name escaped in a faint breath. The first time since Kael's memory loss that he had spoken Robert's name.
Robert's lips parted, but no words came. He simply stared, stunned, heart hammering. His young master's grip loosened, his body collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut. The spell had taken hold. Kael fell into slumber in his arms.
Robert held him close, his heart breaking with guilt. Slowly, carefully, he carried him back to the bed. His hands trembled as he laid him down, pulling the blanket over his still body. He brushed away the last of Kael's tears with his sleeve.
"I'm sorry," Robert whispered, his voice choked. "I can't… I can't let you suffer again. Not while I can still protect you."
But the guilt remained, heavy and suffocating. Not because Reinhardt had ordered it—but because Robert himself could not bear to see Kael walk once more into hell.
As he sat beside the bed, his hand clenched tightly, his jaw trembling with suppressed emotion. That's when it came.
A shout. Urgent, sharp, panicked. Voices rose from outside the room.
Robert's body tensed instantly. His unease surged as the muffled sounds of footsteps and cries echoed down the corridor. Something was wrong.
He turned his head sharply toward the door, dread curling in his gut.
The world outside was already changing.
Robert's heart raced as the muffled shouts outside grew louder. He rushed to the windows, yanking the curtains shut. His hands trembled slightly as he drew each drape tight, closing off the light and the world beyond. He bolted the windows, then moved swiftly to the balcony door, securing it shut as well.
He could hear it now. Chaos.
At first, it was faint—the dull rumble of hurried footsteps, the low murmur of alarm. But then it grew. Groans of pain. The clang of steel meeting steel. Servants' screams torn short in their throats. The sounds of battle echoed through the manor corridors.
Robert's stomach clenched. The intruders weren't just a handful. Judging by the scattering of footsteps, the weight of armored boots against the stone floor—they were many. Organized. Prepared.
And they were inside.
He turned, gaze settling on Kael's still form on the bed. His young master lay deep in enforced slumber, shielded by exhaustion and the spell Robert had forced upon him. His pale face looked calm, but Robert knew better. Kael was not at peace—he was imprisoned by Robert's own hand.
With a shaky breath, Robert raised his right hand. A wand shimmered into being from the air itself, materializing with a faint pulse of light. He grasped it firmly, grounding himself with its weight.
The corridor fell silent.
Robert froze, straining his ears. A moment ago, the fighting had been deafening—the clash of blades, the shouts of men—but now, nothing. The silence pressed in too quickly, too sharply. He tightened his grip on the wand. His instincts screamed.
Then—
Knock. Knock.
The sound echoed against the heavy door.
Robert's heart jumped into his throat. His wand pointed toward the entrance. He forced his voice steady, though the tension cracked faintly at the edge.
"...Who is there?"
A familiar voice answered. Smooth. Calm.
"It's me, Reinhardt."
Robert stiffened, blood running cold. His eyes darted to Kael's bed. Impossible. Reinhardt was in the city, leading soldiers against the dragon. He had seen him leave with his own eyes.
On the other side of the door, the voice spoke again—gentle, coaxing.
"Why did you lock the door? I just want to meet Kael."
The door handle twisted.
Robert's pulse hammered. He lifted his wand toward the door, the runes on its shaft faintly glowing. He steadied his breath, forcing calm into his tone.
"The door… It has a bit of a problem. I've been trapped here since last night."
It was a lie—clumsy, but all he could manage while buying time. Behind him, with a flick of his wand, he cast a protective barrier around Kael's bed. A shimmering veil of translucent light spread over his master, sealing him within its embrace.
Silence stretched. Then the false Reinhardt chuckled softly.
"I see. Then, can I break it?"
Before Robert could react, a thunderous BANG slammed against the door, making the frame shudder. Dust drifted from the ceiling. The barrier flared faintly as Robert poured mana into the hardening spell, reinforcing the wood with layers of magical strength.
Another CRASH. The hinges groaned.
Robert grit his teeth, pressing the wand forward. His voice sharpened, his expression twisting with determination.
"You will not step inside. Not while I'm here."
The next strike rattled the entire room. The intruder was no longer pretending.
Robert braced himself, sweat running down his temple. Whoever—or whatever—was outside… they carried Reinhardt's voice, Reinhardt's confidence. But there was malice in the tone that Reinhardt would never bear.
And Robert knew.
The door would not hold forever.
The pounding against the door grew louder, each strike rattling the frame as if thunder itself had lodged in the wood. Robert's breathing grew uneven, his chest tightening with each echo.
Then—he smelled it.
A faint sting in the air. Acrid. Bitter. Smoke.
His eyes widened. Wisps of gray curled beneath the door, snaking into the room. Somewhere beyond the corridor, flames crackled and roared. The castle was burning.
"No—" Robert whispered through clenched teeth. There was no time left.
He spun around, rushing to Kael's bedside. His young master lay unmoving, lashes resting against his pale cheeks. Robert bent low, sliding his arms beneath Kael and hoisting him up onto his back. Kael's body was light—too light, frail from the weeks of coma. The faintest groan escaped Kael's lips as his weight settled, but the enforced sleep held him still.
Robert's throat constricted. "Forgive me, young master. I won't let them touch you."
He turned, his eyes darting to the sword wrapped beside the bed. Without hesitation, he snatched it up, binding it to his belt. They must never have this… not his sword.
The door exploded inward with a violent crack. Wood splinters burst across the room as smoke billowed in.
Figures cloaked in black robes stepped through the ruined frame, their faces hidden behind grotesque masks. The smell of sulfur and blood followed them like a plague.
"Good morning, Prince Robert."
The voice was smooth, deliberate. It was Reinhardt's voice.
Robert stiffened, his heart twisting at the blasphemous mimicry. The cultists spread across the room like shadows, their presence suffocating.
"Don't call me that." His voice came sharp, cold as steel. He shifted Kael higher against his back, wand raised with his free hand. "I abandoned that title long ago."
The one who had spoken chuckled darkly. "Even if Your Highness casts it aside, your blood cannot lie to us. It sings, whether you deny it or not."
Robert's grip on his wand tightened until his knuckles whitened. Rage burned beneath his ribs.
"Don't use that voice!" he snapped. His emerald eyes blazed, unable to bear hearing Reinhardt's tone twisted into mockery.
The masked intruders drew their swords in unison, the hiss of steel against sheath filling the smoke-choked room.
Robert acted first. With a sharp flick of his wand, twin fireballs surged forward, exploding at the feet of the nearest cultists. Flame and smoke burst upward, forcing them to stagger back.
Seizing the opening, Robert darted for the balcony, Kael secured on his back. His boots struck the rail—then he leapt.
The rush of cold morning air slammed against him as he vaulted over the edge. The world spun for a heartbeat before he landed hard, knees bending to absorb the impact. He staggered forward but did not falter. Kael's weight shifted against him, and Robert gritted his teeth.
"Hold on, young master… this will be rough."
Behind him, the cultists shrieked in fury and gave chase, black figures spilling out of the flames.
Robert sprinted toward the forest beyond the manor, his lungs burning. He whispered a quick chant, light igniting around his legs in a faint glow. Speed filled his muscles, his strides lengthening, his body propelled faster across the ground.
Shouts rose behind him. Magic crackled.
A volley of spells streaked toward him—dark bolts of searing energy that hissed as they cut through the air.
Robert snarled and raised his wand. A hardened barrier erupted around him, a translucent dome of pale light. The spells struck against it, shattering into sparks and smoke, but the barrier held. He didn't slow his pace, didn't dare.
His chest constricted, pain tightening like a vice around his ribs. His breath came ragged, sweat beading across his brow. His body screamed at him to stop.
But he didn't.
He couldn't.
Kael's safety came first—always first.
Even if his own heart burst, even if his lungs failed him, he would not falter.