Back then — after the incident — Solvane couldn't remember what had happened.
Not clearly.
All that lingered was the twisted expression on his father's face. It haunted him, gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. And no matter how much time passed, it refused to fade.
That night, a crash echoed from the young master's room.
Filin rushed in.
The sight stopped him cold.
Solvane was on the floor, his face contorted in pain and despair. Tears streamed violently down his cheeks, his body trembling as if every breath cost him more than he could afford. His fists pounded weakly against the marble, leaving faint smears of blood where his knuckles split.
He looked up when Filin entered. His smile, though broken by tears, was sharp with accusation.
"Tell me, Filin… I never fell from the balcony, did I?"
Filin froze.
His eyes betrayed it — guilt, hesitation — but his lips moved anyway. He forced the lie, swallowing it down like poison.
"Yes, you did. I remember. I was there."
Solvane's smile faded. His tears kept falling, but his gaze hardened.
"Cut the crap." His voice cracked, but the words carried steel. "Then why don't I remember?"
He clenched his fists so tight his nails bit into his palms.
"I know you know," he said, his tone rising. "I can feel it — something's missing. A part of me is gone. Why?"
His voice broke into a plea.
"Please… tell me. How can I know less about my own life than someone who isn't even living it? How am I supposed to walk the right path… if I can't even remember where I've come from?"
The broken prince collapsed forward, his forehead pressing against the cold marble floor. His sobs echoed through the chamber, raw and unrestrained.
Filin stood frozen, his chest tightening with every sound. His hand twitched at his side. Duty chained him, but empathy pulled harder.
At last, he knelt. Slowly, carefully, he placed a hand on Solvane's trembling shoulder.
"He told me to protect you," Filin said softly. His voice was quiet, almost reverent. "He said you were special. That if I failed… he'd chase me down from the afterlife."
He chuckled faintly, though there was no joy in it.
"And knowing him… he probably wasn't joking."
Solvane lifted his head, eyes red and swollen, his breathing ragged.
Filin sighed. His gaze drifted toward the floor.
"I don't remember the full details," he admitted. "But I remember what happened afterward."
Silence stretched between them. Long, heavy, suffocating. The kind of silence where words could not reach.
Minutes passed. Ten. Twenty. Thirty.
Finally, Solvane's sobs quieted. His breathing steadied, though his shoulders still shook.
"I get it now," he whispered hoarsely. "Thanks, Filin."
The butler's lips curled into the faintest smile. "Call me Fil, young master."
Solvane blinked, then let out a weak laugh. "Then call me Solvane, Fil."
For the first time since his awakening, they both smiled.
But beneath that fragile peace, suspicion gnawed.
As the night deepened, Solvane's thoughts sharpened. His smile faded.
*Filin must have been told by my father not to tell me what really happened.*
*And for an ordinary butler to risk defying the king… whatever binds him to me must be important. Too important to ignore.*
He stared at Filin, who had moved to gather the scattered sheets from the floor, his posture composed but his eyes still heavy with sorrow.
*Am I really that necessary for what my father wants?*
The thought chilled him.
*Either this is all part of his plan… or Filin is someone who needs something from me. Why can't my life just be normal" solvane didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
He might be naive but he was no fool.
Solvane's hand trembled against the marble as he pushed himself upright. His reflection glimmered faintly in the polished surface — pale, broken, uncertain.
The moonlight spilled through the balcony, cold and silver. Shadows stretched across the room like grasping hands.
"The only question," Solvane whispered to himself, "is what exactly is his goal… and why am I needed for it?"