The golden-blonde youth woke up on a king-sized bed with crumpled silk sheets. Morning light filtered through heavy curtains, creating golden streaks across the marble floor. For a moment—just a brief moment—his lips curved. It was a rare, genuine smile, triggered by a dream that had just faded from his consciousness.
It was a dream where his father, mother, Rakesh, and himself laughed together in the palace garden. The sun was warm. There were no masks. No grudges. Only family.
A second later, Rion retracted his smile. His expression hardened—becoming flat, cold, and disdainful.
"Did I..." he murmured softly, his voice raspy. "Just smile?"
His hands gripped the blanket until his knuckles turned white.
"Pathetic," Those words came out like venom he spat at himself. "Do I still long for the sweetness of family? No. That dream is nothing but a disgusting residue of my weak soul."
He stared at his own hands—the hands that yesterday touched Sylvia with fake gentleness, the hands that had once gripped Elisa brutally.
"I don't need a hug," he whispered, reassuring himself. "I need absolute control." But his hands were still trembling.
Knock. Knock. Knock..
The knock on the door shattered his spiral of dark thoughts.
"Enter."
The door opened. A woman walked in—tall, around 180 cm, wearing a perfectly neat maid uniform. Too neat. Too perfect. She walked with a posture that was overly controlled. Her steps were slow and full of caution—like a predator disguised as prey.
An assassin. Rion recognized her in the blink of an eye. Years of living in a palace full of intrigue had sharpened his instincts. She stopped in front of Rion, bowing her head with both hands clasped at her stomach—the gesture of a perfect servant.
"Good morning, Your Royal Highness the Crown Prince," she said, her voice low and controlled. "Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Anna. For as long as Your Highness is here, I will be the one serving you."
Rion did not answer immediately. Instead, he smiled—a broad smile so bright it seemed as if his entire face radiated happiness. The angelic mask was back in place.
"Anna..." His tone was friendly and warm, like a prince from a fairy tale. "A beautiful name. But where is Elisa? My personal maid?"
Anna lifted her face, gazing at Rion with a look that wasn't too sharp, yet wasn't soft either. Professional. Trained.
"She is reported to be feeling unwell, Your Highness."
Yesterday I saw her still able to laugh with Rakesh. And now you're saying she's sick? Hot anger surged in his chest, like boiling lava beneath the surface of a mountain. But his face remained calm; his smile did not shift even a millimeter.
Are you joking?
"Have my father arrived here yet?" He asked in a light tone, as if indifferent to the previous answer.
"Yes, Your Highness. Your Majesty the Emperor arrived safely before sunrise, while the sky was still dark."
Rion turned his face toward the window so Anna wouldn't see his mask crack. The angelic expression crumbled to pieces. His jaw tightened, and his golden eyes narrowed dangerously.
It must be Rakesh's doing. He's the one who kept Elisa from coming here. Wait for my revenge.
Anna couldn't see Rion's expression because she only saw his back. But she could feel a subtle tremor in the prince's shoulders—a sign of emotion being forcefully suppressed.
Three seconds. Four seconds. Five seconds.
Rion took a deep breath, controlling his anger like training a wild beast. When he turned back, his face was perfect again. A warm smile. Gentle eyes. As if he had never been angry.
"Very well, Anna," he said in a light tone. "Prepare warm water for a bath. I wish to see my father soon".
Anna bowed. "As you wish, Your Highness."
As the door closed, Rion stared at his reflection in the large mirror in the corner of the room. A handsome young man with an angelic smile stared back.
Liar, he whispered in his heart. A perfect liar.
---
Marquess Albert's Study
Two men whose ages had passed half a century sat facing each other on expensive leather sofas. Between them sat a low table with a silver teapot and fine porcelain cups.
Alarik von Moonstone, 68 years old — the Emperor who had lost an arm but never lost his aura. His hair, once golden-blonde, was now whitening at the temples. Fine lines graced his face, yet his posture remained upright.
Albert von Estrella, also 68 years old—yet his appearance was that of a man in his 40s. There were no fine lines and no gray hair. The blood of the Estrella family provided a galling gift of eternal youth.
"You look younger," Alarik remarked while sipping his tea; his tone was flat, but there was a touch of envy in it.
"And you look as terrible as usual," Albert countered with a thin smirk, twirling his iconic thin mustache.
Alarik snorted. "If only the Estrella blood didn't keep you young, you would be far uglier than me by now."
"No, no, no..." Albert raised his index finger dramatically. "Since we were young, I have always been more handsome than you." He pointed at himself proudly. "Have you forgotten who the most handsome student at Ostrivien Academy was back then?"
"Don't give me that dog-like smile," Alarik grinned. "Your smile already looks like a perverted villain's, and with that ugly mustache of yours—HAHA!"
Albert remained calm; Alarik had mocked his mustache hundreds of times. "What is this one saying? Sorry, I don't speak beast."
Age may grow old, but energy must remain young. They both laughed—a loud sound that filled the room, breaking the formal silence of the noble manor. Then the laughter subsided, and silence returned.
There was only the sound of Kala—the man-sized clock in the corner of the room. Its polished black ebony casing was powered by trimmed Mana Crystals. Resonance gears turned slowly, converting energy into mechanical motion.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock..
Alarik took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly, as if releasing a heavy burden. "Rion's behavior is giving me a headache." His brow furrowed.
Both of Albert's eyebrows shot up, then lowered again. "He's still in the puberty stage. Right now, he might be searching for his identity." His tone turned serious. "Your duty as a father is to guide him so he doesn't go astray."
"I can't..." Alarik let out a heavy sigh. His voice sounded tired, like a man who had already given up.
"Because?"
"He already hates me" Alarik closed his eyes slowly. "It's my fault. I ignored him when he was at his lowest point—no, I've always ignored him. And by the time I realized it, it was too late"
A moment of silence followed.
"This is all my fault," Alarik whispered—a rare confession from the lips of an Emperor. Alarik stared at his missing left arm. "Arthur von Stellaris took my hand. But I took away Rion's right to be loved."
Albert set his cup down. "Can you explain more specifically?"
Alarik opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling as if searching for an answer there. "You know, don't you? Felisha and I didn't marry for love" His voice was flat, like reading a military report. "But to produce a strong heir. That's why I looked at Felisha not with love—but with ambition and lust"
Albert nodded slowly. "Yes. Go on"
"When Felisha was pregnant, I was very happy," Alarik smiled bitterly. "Hoping that child would have the moon affinity from Moonstone and the heavenly lightning from Silverlake. But reality isn't that simple"
His remaining hand clenched into a fist. "When Rion was born with only the moon affinity—I... ignored him. Always."
"And when Felisha was pregnant with Rakesh..." Alarik's voice trembled slightly. "The feeling of love came unbidden. I understood how beautiful love is. For the first time, I saw Felisha not as a tool—but as a woman."
Albert did not interrupt. He just listened, like a good friend.
"Even though Felisha died giving birth to Rakesh..." Alarik swallowed hard. "I promised myself I would be a great father. I pampered Rakesh. Loved him"
"But I forgot..." His voice was raspy. "I forgot that I had another child. Rion"
Albert twirled his mustache—a gesture he did when thinking hard.
"Rion, seeing it all from the shadows, began to feel jealous of Rakesh," Alarik continued. "From jealousy, it turned into hate. And he took all those emotions out on his brother."
"Quarrels?" Albert guessed.
"Yes. An older brother who hates his younger brother, and a younger brother who wants his older brother's attention. In the end, conflict was unavoidable."
Albert nodded slowly. I now understand why Rakesh isn't coming to the wedding tomorrow.
"I hope that with this marriage, Sylvia can bring Rion back to the right path," he said, looking at Alarik. "Just like your story with Felisha."
Alarik smiled ruefully. "Yes. I hope so. Felisha was a very strong woman—not in the sense of physical strength, but in influence. She could turn a lion into a kitten." He stared into his teacup, seeing the reflection of his own face on the surface of the liquid. "I hope Sylvia is like that too."
Albert nodded enthusiastically. He then stared at the ceiling, his expression nostalgic. "I didn't expect..." Albert smiled slightly. "The joking words from that time have now become reality."
Alarik also pulled the corner of his lips—his first thin smile in this conversation. "Yeah."
---
Flashback
The sky above Ostrivien Academy was clear and cloudless. Inside the Moon Castle—the ancestral headquarters of the Moonstone faction. Two young men sat in a tidy study.
Young Alarik (19 years old, leader) was managing documents for the welfare of the faction members. Young Albert (19 years old, vice-leader) lounged on the sofa, his feet kicked up carelessly.
"Hey," Albert suddenly said, his tone light and joking. "What if in the future we match our children with one another?"
Alarik didn't even lift his head from his documents. "Become one family? Fine."
PFFFT—
Albert spat out the water he had just been drinking. "Eh... Why did you agree immediately?! I was just talking without thinking!"
Alarik pulled one corner of his lips into a mischievous smirk. "Then it's the same for me. I answered without thinking." He finally looked at Albert. "If I think about it again, there's no way I'd marry my child to yours! The father is a mess, let alone the child!"
"Damn you!" Albert threw a cup at Alarik.
"HAHAHA!" Both laughed—youthful voices, full of energy, unburdened by the future.
---
Back to the Present
Albert wiped the moisture from the corner of his eye, still smiling from remembering that moment. Alarik smiled too, but his smile was more tired. More bitter.
"Bert," Alarik called, his voice dropping. Serious. "I want to confess something to you"
Albert rubbed his stomach, which still ached from laughing. "What? Just say it"
"Actually..." Alarik hesitated for a moment. "I told a lie in your daughter's name."
Albert furrowed his brows. "What lie?"
"I told Rion that Sylvia is my secret agent sent to tame him."
Silence. The air in the room instantly shifted—from warm to cold. Albert didn't move. His face remained flat, but the veins in his temples began to tighten. His eyes narrowed dangerously. He intensely disliked his daughter's name being used carelessly.
"Damn you."
Albert threw the teacup—this time seriously. Alarik parried it with mana; the cup shattered in mid-air, shards of porcelain falling.
"Listen, Bert—" Alarik raised his remaining hand in a defensive gesture. "I know this sounds bad, but—"
"Bad?" Albert stood up, his posture tense. "You are using my daughter's name to manipulate your son. You are making her a weapon in your damn family game!"
"I know!" Alarik also stood, his voice rising. "I know it's wrong! But I'm desperate, Bert! Rion has gone too far! I didn't know any other way to—"
"Then stop using others as tools!" Albert pointed at Alarik with a finger trembling with rage. "You already did it to Felisha—treating her as a tool for producing an heir—and now you do it to Sylvia?!"
Alarik fell silent. Albert's words stabbed right into an old wound.
"I..." Alarik's voice weakened. "I didn't mean to—".
"But you did". Albert sat back down, but his posture remained tense. "And now, Sylvia will enter this marriage with a target on her back. If Rion believes your lie, he will see my daughter as an enemy".
A long silence followed. Only the sound of Kala continued to tick.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock..
"Forgive me," Alarik finally whispered, his voice raspy. "I... I didn't know what else to do."
Albert stared at him for a long time. Then he let out a long sigh; his anger slowly receded, replaced by exhaustion.
"Do you know what your problem is, Alarik?" Albert shook his head slowly. "You always think manipulation is the solution. But sometimes..." He looked at his friend with a sad gaze. "Sometimes all that is needed is honesty".
Alarik didn't answer. He just stared at his missing hand—the hand lost to a slash from Arthur von Stellaris, the hand that once held Felisha, the hand that should have hugged Rion but never did.
"I will fix it," Alarik said quietly. "Somehow... I will fix everything."
Albert could only hope that was true. But in his heart of hearts, he knew—some things were already too broken to be repaired.
Knock. Knock. Knock..