The fire in the penthouse study crackled, spitting sparks against the iron grate, casting long, dancing shadows against the walls of leather-bound books. It was a warm room, designed for comfort, smelling of old paper, expensive brandy, and the faint, lingering scent of cigar smoke. But tonight, to Emily, it felt like a cold stone cell. The luxury was just another layer of the fortress, another wall between her and the truth.
She sat in a large leather armchair that swallowed her small frame, her knees pulled up to her chest, holding a cup of tea she hadn't touched. The china rattled softly against the saucer, betraying the tremors in her hands. Her eyes were red, but dry. She was done crying. The tears had run out hours ago, leaving behind a raw, scraping emptiness. The shock of the vault—the mountains of gold, the bloody dagger, the realization that her father was a thief—had numbed her. She felt like a ghost haunting her own life.
Akuma sat opposite her. He wasn't the terrifying warlord who had ordered a lockdown an hour ago. He wasn't the ruthless businessman who smiled from magazine covers. He was just a father. He looked older, tired, the weight of the world pulling down the corners of his mouth. He had removed his jacket and loosened his tie, a gesture of vulnerability she rarely saw. He poured himself a drink, his hand shaking just enough for her to notice. It was a calculated imperfection.
"You asked about the dagger," Akuma said softly, his voice rough with an emotion that sounded like grief. "You asked about... Evergreen."
Emily nodded, not trusting her voice. The name hung in the air, heavy and charged.
Akuma sighed, staring into the flames as if he could see the past burning there, turning to ash.
"I admired her," Akuma corrected gently, a sad smile touching his lips. "There is a difference, though it is often hard to see. But she... she was not like us, Emily. She was wild. She craved the fight. Peace terrified her. We were on a mission in the mountains, when we found a Tribe—the ancestors of the boy, Eiden—I saw a people who needed protection. I saw a culture on the brink of extinction. She saw... a weapon."
Akuma stood up, pacing to the window. "They were proud people. They refused to fight for our war. They told us they bowed to no flag, only to strength. They said if she could defeat their strongest master, they would follow her even to death."
He turned back, his eyes dark.
"She didn't hesitate. She fought their champion. It wasn't a duel, Emily; it was a dismantling. She broke him. And in that violence, they didn't see a conqueror. They saw a god. They swore their lives to her right there in the snow."
Akuma leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, drawing Emily into his confidence. "She trained them. She took their traditions and sharpened them into blades. She turned them into the 'Monsters.' She wanted to use them to carve out her own kingdom in the chaos of the post-war world. She was intoxicated by power, Emily. She wanted to rule the mountains, and eventually, much more. She spoke of a new order, built on strength and blood."
Emily frowned, her brow furrowing. This didn't sound like someone Eiden would spoke of. Eiden spoke of honor, "But the war ended," Akuma continued, standing up and pacing slowly to the window. "The world wanted to heal. And I... I met someone else. A woman who was gentle. Kind. A woman who didn't want a kingdom, but a home. A woman who saw the man inside the soldier." He turned back to her, smiling sadly, a ghost of a smile that broke Emily's heart. "Your mother. Triste."
Emily's breath hitched. "Mother."
"I wanted to leave the life, Emily. I wanted to put down the gun. I wanted to take my money, marry Triste, and build this school. A place of peace. A sanctuary where children could learn, safe from the horrors I had seen. But Evergreen..." Akuma's face hardened, the firelight casting deep shadows across his features. "She wouldn't let me go. She said I belonged to the Pack. She said I belonged to her. She said nobody leaves the pack."
Akuma walked to the mantlepiece, his movements heavy. He picked up a silver-framed photo of a beautiful, smiling woman with kind eyes. Triste. He ran his thumb over the glass, a gesture of infinite tenderness.
"She became... jealous. Possessive. Her admiration turned to obsession. She threatened us. She sent messages written in blood. That plaque... 'To the only thing I could not buy'... it was not a romantic gesture, Emily. It was a lament of failure. I tried to pay her off. I gave her millions—the 'loan' Rook spoke of—to leave us alone. To let us live. I emptied my accounts to buy our safety. But it wasn't enough for her. She didn't want gold. She wanted ownership."
He turned to Emily. A single, perfect tear rolled down his cheek, glistening in the light. "You were very small," Akuma whispered, his voice trembling. "a few years old. A tiny, fragile thing. Triste was... weak from the birth. She was resting in the estate. Your brother had gone out to study abroad. He couldn't even see you being born. I was in the garden, burying the guns I swore I'd never use again. I was happy, Emily. For the first time in my life, I was truly happy." He stopped. He touched his throat as if the words were choking him. "I heard... a scream. Not a scream of pain, but of terror. Triste's voice." "Father..." Emily breathed, leaning forward. "I ran inside," Akuma said, his eyes unfocused, seeing the scene he was painting. "I ran up the stairs. I found Evergreen in the room. She was standing over the crib. Over you."
Emily's hand flew to her mouth. A cold horror washed over her, chilling her blood.
"And your mother..." Akuma looked away, his voice breaking into a sob that shook his shoulders. "Triste tried to stop her. She tried to protect you. She threw herself between the blade and the crib. And Evergreen... she used that dagger. She killed her. In cold blood. She took my wife, and she tried to take my daughter."
"No," Emily gasped, tears streaming down her face again, hot and fast. "No... she wouldn't..."
"I fought her," Akuma said, turning back to her, his voice hard now, filled with the memory of violence. "I fought her with everything I had. I fought her like an animal. I took the dagger from her hand while she laughed. And I... I killed her. I ended it. I saved you."
He walked back to Emily and knelt before her chair, taking her cold, trembling hands in his warm ones.
"I kept the dagger, Emily. Not because I loved her. But to remind me of my greatest mistake. The mistake of trusting a Wolf. The mistake that cost your mother her life. I locked it away in the vault so I would never forget that evil exists, even in beautiful forms."
He looked deep into her eyes, holding her gaze with intense, hypnotic power. "Now, sixteen years later... another part of that world comes. Eiden Killian. He carries her legacy. He carries her name. He brainwashed you, just like she tried to brainwash me. He played the hero. He saved you from dangers he created. Do you think it was a coincidence that the Syndicate attacked when he arrived? Do you think it was luck that he was there to save you?"
Akuma squeezed her hands, his grip tightening.
"He is a scout, Emily. He is here to finish what she started. He wants to destroy this family. He wants to take the last thing I have left. He wants to take you."
Emily stared at her father. Her mind raced, trying to find a flaw, a crack in the story. But the pieces fit. The vault. The timeline. The dagger. The 60-man army. The fear in her father's eyes when he spoke of the Wolves. It wasn't paranoia. It was protection. It was the desperate defense of a man who had already lost his wife to these monsters. It all made sense. The image of Eiden—the boy on the train who bought her a pie, the boy who held his breath underwater to save Linda, the boy who bled on the white marble floor—began to twist. It warped under the heat of her father's words. He wasn't a hero. He was a liar. He was the successor to a murderer. He was a monster who had lied to get close to her, manipulated her emotions, used her cousin, all to strike at the man who killed his master. The sadness in her chest evaporated. It was replaced by something cold. Something hard. A jagged shard of ice in her heart where trust used to be. Hate. Pure, clarifying hate.
"He lied to me," Emily whispered, the words tasting like poison.
"Wolves always lie," Akuma said softly, brushing a stray hair from her face. "They hunt in packs, Emily. They isolate their prey. He isolated you. He made you doubt your own family."
Emily stood up. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, smearing the tears. Her expression smoothed out, the grief hardening into the perfect, icy mask of the Princess. Her eyes, usually so full of light, were now dull and flat.
"Where is he?" she asked. Her voice was steady, devoid of the warmth it held only minutes ago.
"He is in his dorm," Akuma said. "I let him stay. He thinks he has won. He thinks he can stay here and turn you against me. He thinks you are weak."
"He is wrong," Emily said.
"Good," Akuma said, standing up and placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Then prove it. Be a Cronus. Be my daughter. Protect this house from the Wolf."
Emily walked to the door. She stopped, her hand on the brass knob.
"The dagger," she said.
"Where is it?"
"It is back in the vault," Akuma said. "Where it belongs. Buried with the past. Sealed away."
"Good," Emily said. "Leave it there."
She walked out of the room. The door clicked shut.
Akuma watched her go. He waited a full minute, listening to her footsteps fade down the hall.
Then, he wiped the tear from his cheek with a silk handkerchief. He walked to the mirror and adjusted his tie. He didn't look sad anymore. He looked satisfied. The grieving husband was gone; the King remained.
The poison had taken root. And now, the flower would bloom, black and thorny.