"Look at his eyes!"
"He's really cute!"
"Rowan, let me hold him just once!"
The reception hall had turned noisier than it had any right to be.
A cluster of noble girls had gathered in one corner like a blooming wall of silk and perfume, their voices overlapping as they leaned toward Ahaan from every side. At the center of it all, Rowan stood stiffly with Nyra beside him, both of them looking as though they were still deciding how exactly they had ended up in this situation. Maid Tara remained a short distance away, wearing the expression of someone deeply worried that this level of chaos in such a high place might earn divine punishment.
At that very moment, Mr. Oceayne stepped out from one of the inner library halls and entered the reception hall.
His pace was calm, measured, unhurried. His gaze swept across the hall once, indifferent at first, until it landed on the unusually loud gathering near the front. A faint crease touched his brow.
Children were always a source of noise, But this much noise?
As he moved closer, the crowd shifted just enough for him to see through it.
First Rowan.
Then the child in his arms.
White hair.
Something in his face changed. Not much. Just enough for a slight smile to brush his lips.
—
"So," Mr. Oceayne said, the strange curve still resting on his face, "it has happened because of you, Rowan Cyan."
Then his gaze moved fully toward Ahaan.
"Oh."
Ahaan felt it before the words even settled. Mr. Oceayne's lips curled a little more.
"So, this is him."
Rowan's fingers tightened slightly around Ahaan, then loosened again with visible control.
"What do you mean?" Rowan asked, his voice calm.
Mr. Oceayne leaned forward just a little, studying Ahaan as if judging an object placed on a shelf rather than a child in someone's arms. The air around him felt cold in a way that had nothing to do with the library walls.
The moment he leaned closer, Nyra instinctively stepped back. Her shoulders drew in ever so slightly, as if some quiet instinct inside her wanted distance from this man and she did not even know why.
Ahaan blinked.
Then slowly frowned.
Who the hell is this man, and why does he smell like someone who forgot to wash his ass… just go back…
Rowan's expression did not change, but his eyes hardened just enough for anyone paying attention to notice.
Something unspoken passed through the space between them then—something thin, sharp, and unpleasant. It was not open hostility. Not yet.
But it was enough.
Enough for Nyra to fall silent.
Enough for Tara to grip her own hands a little tighter.
Enough for Ahaan, sitting in Rowan's arms, to feel the first stirrings of a strange irritation he could not fully name.
And in that quiet, narrow moment, with the noble girls still gathered nearby and the library's cold air pressing faintly against their skin, something small and unseen took root between Rowan Cyan and Mr. Oceayne.
Mr. Oceayne's smile widened, pleased with itself.
"Your family truly is fortunate," he said. "A noble certificate, a miracle child, and now the audacity to stroll into the Royal Library as if you belong here."
Behind them, Tara made a tiny sound—half gasp, half prayer. Nyra's fingers tightened at her side as she tried to judge whether this moment could still be calmed before it became something uglier.
Rowan tilted his head slightly. His voice, when it came, was calm.
"We do belong here."
For a brief second, Mr. Oceayne looked almost delighted, as though Rowan had given him exactly the answer he had been hoping for. His face brightened with the thin joy of a man who had finally found a mirror for his own dislike.
He spoke louder this time, enough for nearby scholars to hear.
"Careful with your tone, boy. Do you know who you are speaking to?"
Rowan smiled politely. "Mr. Oceayne, are you here to stop the noise… or become part of it too?"
A few children in the background coughed to hide their laughter.
Mr. Oceayne's eye twitched.
Rowan's face remained smooth and calm, like still water over hidden stone.
Mr. Oceayne stepped closer. "How dare you speak like that to a brave and powerful officer of this kingdom?"
He said the title as if the air itself should rise and salute him.
Then he began telling them, with great personal devotion, exactly how brave he was, how important he was, and how much respect his name deserved. His voice went on and on, so full of itself that even the nearby nobles began losing interest. Nyra quietly asked Rowan if she could hold Ahaan, while Tara, perhaps deciding survival was wiser than involvement, turned her attention to the carved walls as if ancient stone had suddenly become fascinating.
And somehow, in the middle of his own speech, Mr. Oceayne realized the worst possible truth.
He was being ignored.
"Do not ignore me," he snapped.
Then his gaze dropped to Ahaan again.
The child stared back at him with round, innocent eyes, but there was something in that steady little gaze that made the man feel, for one strange second, as if he were the one being judged. As if the baby, without words, had already decided—
You're weird.
Mr. Oceayne leaned closer, his voice lowering, sharpening.
"So small," he murmured. "White hair… like clouds."
Rowan's jaw tightened for half a second.
Barely visible.
But there.
Mr. Oceayne's lips curved again.
"Tell me, Rowan Cyan…" he said softly, almost cruelly. "Is your brother truly blessed?"
He paused. Then continue—
"Or is he a remind normal, what your family truly deserves?"
Rowan went very still.
The corridor seemed to turn colder around them. Ahaan's tiny fingers curled unconsciously, and in that exact moment, something flickered behind his blue eyes—brief and strange, like invisible chains stirring in the dark.
Rowan exhaled slowly.
When he spoke, his voice remained soft. Controlled. But every word carried weight.
"My brother is not for your mouth to discuss."
Mr. Oceayne smirked. "Or what?"
Rowan smiled a little more.
Polite. Harmless.
But his eyes had sharpened just enough to cut.
"One day," Rowan said, calm as ever, "you'll realize you've been speaking bravely only because no one has answered you properly yet."
Silence followed.
Mr. Oceayne stood still.
For a single moment, he did not move, as though something in Rowan's words had quietly rooted him to the ground. The air between them seemed to grow heavier, and the calm in his face turned unreadable.
Then, without another word, he stepped forward and walked past Rowan.
He crossed him in silence, his presence steady and oppressive, until he came to a stop just behind him. For one brief second, neither of them moved. The library itself felt as though it were listening.
Then Mr. Oceayne spoke, his voice low, calm, and carrying a weight that pressed into the air itself.
"I will be waiting for that day."
After saying those words, he continued forward and left, his figure disappearing without hurry, yet somehow leaving behind a silence louder than his footsteps.
Rowan did not watch him go. He simply moved on, his calm face returning as if nothing had happened, carrying Ahaan forward without pause.
Ahaan, however, kept staring in the direction Mr. Oceayne had vanished, his tiny brows furrowed with full seriousness.
I don't like his face. I don't like his voice. I don't like his… existence.
Tara walked beside Rowan with her hands folded tightly. On the other side, Nyra remained quieter than before, her expression composed, but the way her gaze kept returning to Rowan said enough. She had noticed the tension too.
"Young Master Rowan…" Tara whispered at last. "That officer… he was…"
Rowan's tone stayed gentle.
"He's nothing."
They reached the reception desk—a wide marble counter with a glass-like barrier etched in rune-lines. Behind it sat a woman in a dark blue uniform, her hair tied neatly, her eyes sharp.
Her gaze swept over Rowan first, then landed on Ahaan.
"Name and identification, please," she said.
Rowan and Nyra placed their identification slips on the desk. "Rowan Cyan, House Cyan," Rowan said. "Nyra Skye, House Skye," Nyra said.
The receptionist took them without comment and slid them beneath a glowing crystal plate set into the counter. Runes flickered once, then settled into a steady light.
Her expression shifted immediately into the kind of respect reserved for verified nobles.
"Confirmed," she said, returning the slips. "Welcome to the Grand Royal Library."
Then her eyes moved back to Ahaan.
"And the child?" she asked. "Is the baby entering as well?"
Tara stiffened behind them as if she had just been accused of smuggling forbidden magic into a sacred archive.
Rowan nodded once. "Yes."
The receptionist did not nod back. Instead, she pulled out a thin ledger and a seal-stamp from beneath the desk.
"Infants are not permitted in the archive halls," she said flatly. "Noise risk. Damage risk. Distraction risk."
Ahaan blinked slowly, personally offended.
Come on. I'm literally the quietest person here.
Rowan's voice remained calm. "He won't be noisy."
The receptionist's eyes did not soften. "All babies are noisy."
Ahaan stared at her.
Tara panicked immediately. "M-Ma'am, he is a very good baby. He rarely—"
Nyra quietly placed a hand on Tara's elbow and said in a calm voice, "We both—two nobles—take full responsibility."
Rowan stood still, but inside, his thoughts had already gone somewhere entirely unhelpful.
Ah… why does that sound like we're a married couple and Ahaan is our baby…
Ahaan noticed the strange change in Rowan's heartbeat and narrowed his eyes slightly.
The receptionist pushed the ledger forward. "Then he will be registered under your supervision. If he cries, throws, spits, bites, or damages any material, both of you will be held responsible."
Ahaan's tiny fingers curled.
Bites? I'm not a dog.
Rowan accepted the seal-stamp without flinching. "Understood."
The receptionist leaned forward slightly, her sharp eyes settling on them one by one. "Also, babies are not allowed beyond the third hall. Restricted materials are stored deeper inside. If you require access there, the child must remain with a caretaker in the second hall."
Tara nodded so many times it looked like her neck had entered a separate agreement. "Yes, yes, of course."
The receptionist's face hardened again. "Very well. Sign. Thumbprint. Mana imprint."
Rowan and Nyra signed first, pressed their thumbs to the page, then placed their palms over a rune-circle engraved into the counter. The lines lit up, recognizing them, accepting their status.
Then the receptionist turned to Tara.
"Caretaker identification."
Tara nearly stumbled over her own words. "T-Tara. Maid of House Cyan. Personal attendant."
Her voice came out smaller than intended, but the receptionist wrote it down without looking up. The scratching of the pen across the ledger sounded oddly serious, as if even this small act carried the weight of a formal oath.
And in Rowan's arms, Ahaan watched the entire process with quiet attention.
This was not just a library.
It was a place where even entry had to be earned.
The receptionist scanned their tokens, stamped them once more, and slid a small badge across the desk for Tara. Tara took it with both hands as if accepting something sacred, then carefully received Ahaan from Rowan's arms. Together, they began walking toward the inner gates.
Two tall guards stood before a massive archway of dark wood and silver runes. Their armour was polished, their faces unreadable. As the group approached, the receptionist called after them, her voice sharp and official enough to make even Rowan slow half a step.
"Rules of the library. No shouting. No fighting. No magic discharge. No damage to property. No removal of books without authorization."
Then her gaze narrowed at Ahaan in particular.
"And no biting."
Ahaan blinked.
Stop… I am not a dog; he shouted inwardly with full offense.
For one brief moment, the receptionist's stern face slipped. Her expression softened just slightly, like she had almost smiled at the sight of the white-haired baby glaring at her in silent dignity. But the moment passed. The guards stepped aside, and the inner doors opened.
—
After that, some time passed inside the library. Let us move forward, deeper into the library's quiet hours—into the moment when everything became strange.
Where—
Rowan stood there, his body gone rigid, his eyes fixed so completely that even his blinking disappeared. The colour in his face drained little by little, and then thin purple lines began to rise from the corners of his eyes, spreading faintly across his skin.
Nyra sat beside Rowan, pressed her thumb against his eye and next moment she leaned in, her lips moving toward his lips.
And Ahaan—
His eyes wide and then a book slipped from his hands.
His tiny fingers loosened all at once.
Because on the page before him, among old ink and faded lines, there was a mark.
A mark—the very same one that had once appeared on his father's back in his past life.
On Neel's back.
And beneath that mark, written clearly in the book, were the words—
King's Mark.
To be continue…