The banquet eventually died down. Nobles left in carriages. Servants cleaned spilled wine and scattered petals. Cedric was drunk on praise, boasting loudly to whichever knights remained conscious.
Kyle slipped out early.
No one noticed him leave.
The night air was cold, quiet, almost too still. The manor grounds were dimly lit by crystal lanterns, and Kyle, exhausted from the noise and crowds, walked toward the training yard to clear his head.
He always did this.
Sword swings in the dark. Breathing exercises. Anything to ease the weight in his chest.
But tonight… the air felt different.
Heavy. Tight. Like someone was watching.
Kyle paused at the edge of the field.
"…Hello?"
No response.
But a chill ran up his spine, so sharp it made him grip the practice sword at his hip.
Then... a faint rustle.
Too heavy to be an animal. Too controlled to be a servant. And too intentional to be ignored.
Someone was here.
A figure stood beyond the lantern light, hidden among the trees. Completely still. Breathing softly. Observing him.
Kyle couldn't see the person's face… but whoever it was carried killing intent so faint and refined that only someone with heightened senses could detect it.
Kyle shouldn't have been able to sense it at all.
Yet something deep inside him, part of a dormant instinct, ancient and buried flared awake for the first time.
His hand tightened on the wooden practice sword. His stance shifted without him thinking. His heartbeat slowed, sharpened.
Like he had done this before.
Like his body remembered something he didn't.
The figure stepped forward slightly just enough for moonlight to catch a metallic shoulder guard.
Not a servant.
Not a thief.
A knight. One of high rank, judging by the armor design.
Kyle took a step back.
"Wh–who's there?"
Still silence.
And then...
Another faint rustle behind him.
Someone else.
Two shadows.
Kyle's instincts screamed at him, pushing him into a defensive posture he'd never been taught.
But just as the tension peaked,
A voice cut through the darkness.
"That's enough. Fall back."
Both shadowed figures retreated immediately, melting into the trees like ghosts.
The Duke stepped into the moonlight.
He had followed Kyle after the banquet not to threaten him, but because he needed to be sure.
Sure the boy was real. Alive. A surviving heir.
But when he saw how Kyle's body reacted how he sensed killing intent only trained warriors could detect, the Duke's breath caught.
He really is Lloyd's son…
"Kyle," the Duke said softly, "you should head inside. It's late."
Kyle nodded uncertainly. "Y-yes, Your Grace."
As he walked back, he kept glancing over his shoulder unable to shake the feeling that he had just brushed past death.
The Duke watched him go.
His knights emerged from the shadows behind him.
"Your Grace," one whispered, "the boy sensed us. That shouldn't be possible."
"I know," the Duke murmured.
The wind blew, cold and sharp.
"He has the instincts of a Midgar… even without mana."
The Duke closed his eyes, the weight of the kingdom pressing against his spine.
"He must be protected. And hidden. More than ever."