Just before the festival began, Duchess Axid—charged with protecting the Queen—had not only failed in her duty but instead threatened her very life.
The rampage resulted in the annihilation of a squad from House Shildras’s knights who had been stationed there. It wasn’t until twenty knights had died that Duchess Axid was finally subdued by Duke Shildras himself and taken down to the underground prison.
The Brosius siblings, who were staying at their capital residence with their father to attend the festival, were detained immediately. Time had frozen from that moment on.
Memories blurred together like smeared paint, making it impossible to discern their original shape. Seiyad remembered fragments—faint, scattered pieces. The frigid expression of Duke Shildras storming into their estate in the capital, the face of Duke Bridehit who had been keeping surveillance on House Brosius…
And his mother, imprisoned in the dungeon.
Her execution was inevitable. Under watch, Seiyad was allowed to meet her—thanks to the Queen’s scheme, who believed the Archduchess might reveal rebellious intentions to her son. As cruel as it was strategic, it did at least give Seiyad a moment to say goodbye.
Locked in the lowest level of the dungeon, his mother was unrecognizable. Her leg tendons had been severed to prevent her from standing, forcing her to crawl to reach him.
She was in rags. Her knees, dragged across the stone, were torn open to the flesh, and her back was pierced and bleeding, the wounds left unbandaged.
He had clearly heard that she surrendered voluntarily after the rampage had ended. And yet the Tithers had done this to her. Her once silken silver hair was a tangled mess, her face mottled with deep blue bruises. She looked nothing like the woman who had once radiated unshakable strength.
There are sights that drive a person mad by mere sight. His mother was one of them. Her blood-soaked hands, the stench of rusted iron and moldy rot filling the prison air—it made Seiyad tremble with fear and rage.
But what he found hardest to endure was the way people acted.
No one tried to uncover the cause of the rampage. They mercilessly severed ties with a duke who had loyally defended the North his entire life. No one believed his mother when she said it hadn’t been an act of rebellion, so Seiyad had to believe her in their stead.
“Your power exists to protect the world.”
It didn’t matter that the Archduke of Brosius had always preached compassion for the weak. Despite the fact that the catastrophe had resulted from powers even she couldn’t control, that one incident erased every trace of her former goodness in the public eye.
Seiyad never witnessed her execution. Naturally, there was no funeral. No evidence of treason was ever found, even after extensive searches of the Brosius estates and castles. That was the only reason Seiyad and his young sister survived. Still, there was heated debate about erasing the Brosius name entirely from the North and assimilating the siblings into another noble house.
Everything changed overnight. Once the pride of the North, the House of Brosius became a source of disgrace to its people. Tithers and court officials who had once shown them favor now pointed cold, condemning fingers. Seiyad spent a long time imprisoned in Axid Castle, awaiting judgment. He hadn’t been able to see Ressas during that time. It couldn’t be helped—Ressas was bound to his own palace and couldn’t have come to visit.
It wasn’t until three months after the final ruling on House Brosius that Seiyad saw him again. Spring had already passed. The blistering sun of summer scorched down, the air boiling, suffocating.
Before heading to the central court as ordered, Seiyad packed a book. It was a gift he’d missed the chance to give. He debated for a long time whether to bring it at all, but in the end, he picked it up. Not knowing what the future held, he just wanted, one last time, to see Ressas smile.
Violating the strict prohibition against using Tither abilities in the palace, Seiyad snuck into Ressas’s quarters before entering the audience chamber. Concealing himself in the shadows that cloaked the vast palace, he made his way to the southern wing.
Though everything else had changed, Ressas’s quarters remained untouched. The old apple tree still bore its luscious fruit. Once ripe, they would decorate the front of the palace like crimson blossoms. The suffocating grip on his lungs loosened at last. The sweltering air cooled into a gentle breeze.
Seiyad walked slowly toward Ressas’s room. He tightened his grip slightly around the book. Ressas always kept the window open, no matter the season, waiting for Seiyad. Slipping silently around to the back, Seiyad peeked into the room.
Ressas wasn’t there.
Standing in the shade, Seiyad looked around. Everything was exactly as it had been—except Ressas was gone. Even so, convinced that nothing could have changed, Seiyad began searching the palace slowly. He imagined different scenes. Ressas waiting for him at the entrance to the castle, wandering off to find wood suitable for carving, swinging a wooden sword and hoping for praise—things like that.
But in none of those imagined scenes was Ressas ever with the son of Duke Shildras.
Ressas was in the garden. Sitting on the wooden swing Seiyad had hung for him, he looked like he was waiting for someone. Hiding beneath the long forest shadows that stretched into the garden, Seiyad froze just a few steps away. His lips parted to call out, but then stiffened.
“You’re not really playing hide and seek if you stay here, Ressas.”
A boy approached the swing. As if he’d been waiting for him, Ressas looked up and smiled. For the first time, Seiyad saw Ressas smiling at someone who wasn’t him.
“You found me.”
“You let yourself get caught, didn’t you? Let’s go inside. It’s way too hot.”
The boy had light brown hair, almost blonde, and was a little shorter than Ressas. Seiyad didn’t need to see his face to know who he was. It was Zion, Duke Shildras’s eldest son.
He had never really paid attention before—always passing by at a distance—but the boy resembled the duke more than he’d imagined. He looked exactly how Seiyad imagined the child version of the man who had stormed into their estate demanding they thoroughly search the traitor’s home.
“Let’s stay a little longer. The sky’s beautiful.”
“There you go again. Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?”
At that, Ressas hesitated. Holding the rope of the swing, he remained silent for a while before finally asking:
“What the Archduke of Brosius did and what Eid is—they’re not the same thing. So why is Eid dangerous, too?”
“Ressas.”
Zion Shildras’s voice softened, as though he pitied him.
“Don’t concern yourself with people like that. There’s nothing we can do. What if the Queen hears you were curious? Think how much that would hurt her.”
At the mention of the Queen, Ressas flinched, his shoulders trembling. Sensing the reaction, Zion spoke more firmly.
“You have me now. You don’t have to rely on that person anymore.”
From the shadows, Seiyad silently watched the scene unfold. The boys’ conversation was ordinary. There was nothing particularly wrong in what Zion said, and even Seiyad agreed with it.
Ressas shouldn’t get involved in his affairs. He was a powerless prince—what could he possibly do? Just speaking of matters tied to treason could land him in deep trouble. Zion Shildras was right.
And yet, Seiyad still wished Ressas would say something—anything—just not agree with him. Even if it was selfish, something deep in his chest whispered desperately.
He wanted to be assured that the Ressas he remembered hadn’t changed.
“Thank you.”
After a brief silence, Ressas agreed with Zion’s words. A faint smile rose on his lips. The duke’s son extended his hand to him. Ressas, eyes on the offered hand, slowly let go of the swing’s rope.
The only one who hadn’t changed was Seiyad.
Ressas, who once seemed like he’d always need Seiyad, was gone. With wise instinct, he had found his rightful place. He had always been clever, after all—he knew how to behave.
Yes. Well done.
By Zion’s side, Ressas would be neither lonely nor in danger. For Seiyad to reach out to him now would only bring harm. This was what was right—for both of them.
His blood turned cold. The lips that had parted slightly closed. His fingertips went numb, as if frozen, then chilled to the bone.
Seiyad gripped the book tightly until it crumpled, then slowly stepped back. A faint snap of a twig echoed. Ressas, who had nearly taken Zion’s hand, turned his gaze briefly toward the sound. But their eyes never met.
That day, the royal court decided to preserve the Brosius stronghold but transferred all duties of the northern archduke to the southern Duke Shildras. The North was banned from entering the capital unless summoned by royal decree. Serena Brosius, the former archduchess, was declared a traitor and sentenced to have all her achievements as a Tither erased from the historical records.
When Seiyad returned to the castle, he followed the royal commands without protest. He never sought out Ressas again. Though he occasionally received letters from Ressas, he never opened a single one. Eventually, Kellaran stopped bringing him the unread letters altogether.
The next time he saw Ressas was the following year, at the birthday celebration for the third prince. In front of the entire court, Seiyad knelt alone before the toddler prince as a sign of submission, demonstrating his unwavering loyalty to the crown.
After the banquet ended, Ressas sought him out and clung to him. Not even knowing what he had done wrong, he begged forgiveness, weeping pitifully, wretchedly.
“Eid… Please don’t leave me….”
Until Zion Shildras, searching for the missing prince, pried him away from Seiyad, Ressas cried like that. His sorrowful form was so miserable it almost made Seiyad falter—for the briefest moment.
But Ressas’s tears were nothing more than regret over something lost.
Seiyad thought of Zion standing by Ressas’s side. Thought of Duke Shildras. Thought of the Queen—Ressas’s mother and their distant relative.
Everyone around Ressas was Seiyad’s personal hell. And Ressas, unwilling to escape it, did nothing but try to pull Seiyad into it as well.
Back at the castle, Seiyad took the small book that had sat on his desk all year. Mocking his own foolish sentimentality, he shoved it into a place where no one could ever see it.
And until the day he died, he never opened it again.
