Night settled over the prison like a living thing.
The wind howled through the iron-barred windows, lashing violently against the trees beyond the stone walls. Branches bent and twisted, groaning under the force, their shadows scraping across the prison floor like reaching claws.
Ethan lay on his back upon the cold stone, hands folded beneath his head, staring at the ceiling he could finally see again.
Cracks traced the rock above him like scars, real, unmistakable. Proof that his vision had truly returned.
Yet his mind refused to rest.
Reinhard's face kept resurfacing. His calm voice. His forbidden magic. The impossible way he had dragged Ethan back from darkness, again.
How… Ethan wondered. How could someone like that exist?
"Hey… hey, Ethan."
Rivington's voice broke the silence, low and careful, as though afraid to disturb the fragile peace.
"How are you holding up?" he asked. "Are you hungry? You haven't eaten in two days."
Ethan blinked.
Only then did he realize it. Two days, no hunger, no weakness, no emptiness in his stomach.
"That's strange…" Ethan murmured, touching his abdomen. "I think… I am hungry."
He paused, then softly added, almost surprised by his own words, "But I didn't feel it."
Rivington frowned.
Then, Ethan understood why.
For the first time since Almsworth burned, joy had drowned out pain. Seeing again, living again, had pushed everything else aside, even hunger.
Rivington rose shakily and approached the bars.
"Please," he called out into the corridor, voice echoing against stone. "Anyone.. guards, I beg you. The boy hasn't eaten in two days. Spare him even half a loaf. Just enough to keep him alive."
Footsteps approached, heavy and deliberate.
A single guard emerged from the darkness, irritation etched deep into his face. Without a word, he tossed three small pieces of bread through the bars, followed by a dented cup of water.
"Take it," the guard snapped. "And don't bother me again."
He turned and walked away, boots fading into the night.
The cell fell quiet once more.
Ethan stared at the bread in his hands, dry, rough, barely enough to be called food. Yet to him, it felt heavier than gold.
Rivington watched him carefully, relief flickering briefly across his worn face.
Reinhard said nothing.
He sat against the wall, eyes half-lidded, listening to the wind scream outside, fully aware that the storm beyond the prison walls was nothing compared to what awaited them at dawn.
Rivington exhaled slowly and turned toward Reinhard, lowering his voice.
"I'm sorry for dragging you into this," he said. "If the King discovers who or what, you truly are… it won't end with imprisonment. It'll be a death sentence. For all of us."
Reinhard leaned against the stone wall, arms folded, expression unreadable. He didn't look the least bit concerned.
"Relax," he replied calmly. "No one will recognize me. I can compress my mana to that of an ordinary human. And besides…"
A faint, almost amused smile tugged at his lips.
"Only one percent of this world's population has ever seen my face and lived long enough to remember it. I've walked this land for hundreds of years. Faces fade, legends remain."
Rivington stared at him, unsettled.
"…Sigh. At least that's one problem solved," he muttered. Then his gaze shifted. "But Ethan, his sight. What are we going to tell them about that?"
He turned.
Ethan was already asleep.
His chest rose and fell steadily, his face finally free of pain, as though exhaustion had dragged him into a dreamless refuge.
Reinhard let out a quiet chuckle.
"Well," he said softly, "seems the boy solved that problem for us."
*****
Morning came with steel and noise.
The prison doors were thrown open, and before the sun had fully risen, Ethan, Rivington, and Reinhard were dragged through the city streets by Royal Guards. The cold stone of Gondolin's roads bit into their feet as towering walls and golden spires loomed overhead.
The Palace gates opened. Inside, the air felt heavier, thick with authority, judgment, and silent menace.
They were forced to their knees.
Ethan lifted his head.
For the first time since losing his sight…
he saw the King.
Cazer Quinn sat upon his throne, draped in royal black and gold, one arm resting lazily on the armrest, his expression steeped in boredom, as though deciding the fate of lives was a tiresome chore.
Beside him sat Queen Kia Quinn, her posture elegant and composed, eyes sharp and observant, missing nothing.
Then Ethan's breath caught.
To the side, upon a smaller throne, sat a girl about his age. Beautiful and dazzling.
Her eyes were blue like the open sea, clear and unafraid. Long black hair cascaded down her shoulders in soft coils, catching the light like strands of night itself.
She watched him, not with disgust, but curiosity.
The Princess of Gondolin.
A single royal guard stepped forward.
His armored boots struck the marble floor with a thunderous clang, echoing through the hall. He drew his spear upright and inhaled deeply, his voice exploding outward like a proclamation carved into history itself.
"HAIL THE KING!"
The words crashed through the chamber, silencing every whisper.
"Hail His Majesty, the Great King Cazer!"
"Hail the Honorable Queen Kia!"
"And hail their noble daughter, Princess Mia.... "
He paused, letting the weight of the moment settle.
".....THE QUINN FAMILY."
The air itself seemed to bow.
The guard stepped back, lowered his head, and declared with reverence thick in his voice, "Long live the King...the one deemed worthy to pass judgment upon this people."
At once, the hall moved as one.
Kneel.
Armor clattered. Robes brushed the floor. Nobles, knights, servants, every soul dropped to one knee in perfect unison, heads lowered, spines bent in submission. It was not forced.
It was instinct.
From the throne, King Cazer finally rose, slowly and deliberately.
Power clung to him like a second skin, invisible yet suffocating. His gaze swept across the kneeling crowd, calm, sharp, unreadable. Then, with a lazy flick of his hand, casual, almost bored, he spoke.
"You may rise."
The words were soft, but they carried absolute authority. The room obeyed instantly.
Ethan stood frozen.
His heart thumped hard against his chest as he stared, eyes wide. He had only ever seen scenes like this in movies, grand halls, thunderous salutes, kings commanding silence with a gesture. Games never captured this feeling.
Never this pressure, never this reality. It was overwhelming and intoxicating.
For a fleeting moment, a dangerous thought crossed his mind.
Someday…. Someday, he wanted to be the one standing there. Someday, he wanted voices to roar his name. Someday, he wanted the world to kneel, not out of fear alone, but because it could not help itself.
The king's gaze shifted.
It landed on Ethan like a blade resting lightly against flesh.
"So," King Cazer said, his voice calm yet impossibly heavy, "Ethan Cole. Son of Zane Cole, the Sun Fighter."
The title echoed through the hall, drawing murmurs from the nobles.
"It seems," the king continued, eyes narrowing slightly, "that you can finally see again."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Ethan replied.
He bowed deeply.
The gesture twisted something unpleasant in his gut.
He hated it.
Lowering his head, submitting, felt wrong on a level he couldn't explain. He had never wanted to stand beneath anyone's shadow, not a noble, not a general.
Not even a king.
But power was power, and right now, loyalty was the only language he was allowed to speak.
A faint hum escaped King Cazer's lips.
"Hm."
Then his gaze drifted past Ethan.
"And who," the king asked slowly, "is the man standing on the other side?"
His eyes locked onto Reinhard.
The air tightened.
Rivington snapped to attention instantly, his voice sharp with urgency.
"Your Majesty! He is the healer who restored Ethan's sight."
The king studied Reinhard carefully.
"So," Cazer said, his tone unreadable, "you are a mage more capable than even the great Mage Anita."
A ripple of shock passed through the hall.
Reinhard did not react.
"My lord," he replied calmly, eyes lowered, "I merely applied science and minor enchantments. Nothing more."
Silence followed.
Heavy and suspicious.
"What is your name," the king demanded, "great mage?"
For the first time, Reinhard hesitated.
His eyes flicked to Rivington, not in fear, but in quiet calculation.
Rivington gave a barely perceptible nod.
"My name is Reinford, my lord," Reinhard said at last.
King Cazer rose from his throne.
The movement alone sent a wave of pressure through the hall.
Conversations died instantly. Every step he took rang against the stone floor like a verdict being passed.
Step. Step. Step.
Each step came with authority and judgment.
The king stopped directly in front of Reinhard. Close enough that a liar's heartbeat would betray him. Close enough that fear would crack even seasoned veterans.
But Reinhard remained kneeling, still, unshaken. Not even his breathing changed.
King Cazer stared down at him, eyes sharp, searching.
Then... without warning, he spoke.
"Rivington."
The man flinched.
"Why," the king asked coldly, "did you flee when I summoned you?"
Sweat immediately poured down Rivington's face. His mouth went dry.
"My lord," he said quickly, bowing low, "Ethan was running out of time. His life was slipping away. I had no choice but to leave the city in search of a mage more powerful than any within the capital."
His voice trembled.
"I beg your forgiveness. I acted without permission… but not without reason."
The king stood motionless for a long moment
The hall waited with him.
Then, at last, King Cazer turned away, his cloak trailing softly as he returned to his throne. He lowered himself onto it with measured calm, fingers resting against the armrest as if the world itself were beneath his control.
"Ethan Cole," he said.
His voice echoed through the chamber.
"Days ago, I dispatched my royal guards to Almsworth. They returned with… troubling reports." His eyes darkened.
"The town was reduced to ruin. A massacre so complete it defied reason."
The king leaned forward slightly.
"Tell me," he continued, his gaze cutting into Ethan, "what kind of demon is powerful enough to defeat Zane Cole in battle…"
pause.
"…and erase Almsworth from existence?"
Ethan did not respond.
The color drained from his face as the memories surged back without mercy, fire screaming through the streets, bodies crushed beneath rubble, the sky burning red, and his father's final stand.
His breath hitched.
Still, he said nothing.
"Speak, boy!" one of the royal guards barked. "You answer when the king addresses you!"
Silence.
The guard stepped forward, irritation twisting into anger. He leveled his spear, its cold steel stopping just short of Ethan's throat.
"I said talk!"
Ethan didn't flinch, didn't blink, didn't even acknowledge the weapon pressed toward his neck.
The court stirred uneasily.
King Cazer's brows furrowed. Queen Kia straightened in her seat, unease flickering across her composed expression. Even Princess Mia, who had once dismissed Ethan as awkward and harmless, felt something shift in her chest.
This wasn't the same boy.
Then... Ethan lifted his head slowly, and deliberately. The expression on his face froze the room.
It wasn't fear or anger, it was emptiness, cold, bottomless, and terrifyingly calm.
Rivington's breath caught. He had never seen Ethan look like that.
"They weren't demons," Ethan said.
His voice was low. Flat and dead.
The authority of the throne meant nothing to him now.
"They were talking demons."
The air cracked.
Ethan's eyes ignited, deep, radiant purple, as his mana exploded outward like a roaring tide. The pressure slammed into the hall, rattling banners, shattering goblets, and forcing guards to stagger back.
Even the king stiffened.
Mana howled like a storm unleashed.
Princess Mia gasped, clutching the arm of her throne as the floor trembled beneath her feet.
Reinhard's blood ran cold.
"…This is bad," he muttered under his breath, eyes wide.
"This is very bad."
Because in that moment, everyone in the throne room understood the same terrifying truth...
The boy standing before them was no longer just a survivor, he was something forged by war and loss.