Night settled over Mirumania like a heavy curtain.
Even after the mob was calmed and the survivors were given temporary shelter, tension clung to the air like smoke that refused to fade. The streets were quieter now — too quiet. Doors were closed. Windows dark. The kingdom was awake… but pretending to sleep.
Ryo couldn't.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw flames.
So he stepped out onto the palace balcony, inhaled the cold night air, and leapt upward. His feet landed silently atop the highest tower of the palace.
Someone was already there.
Ruqayya.
She stood near the edge, her silhouette framed by moonlight. The wind tugged gently at the scarf wrapped around her neck.
That strange feeling returned to Ryo's chest.
This time, he didn't ignore it.
He walked over and sat beside her.
"Nice scarf," he said.
She didn't look at him.
"It was my mother's."
The wind passed between them, carrying the distant sound of rebuilding — wood being moved, muted voices, the scrape of effort.
"…Where is she?" he asked carefully.
"She's dead."
Her voice was flat. No crack. No tremble.
That made it heavier.
Ryo swallowed.
"And your father?"
"He died in the war."
"I thought the war was between Alulencia and Rolencia."
"It was," she replied. "But we joined to stop the catastrophe from spreading to us. Only a few returned. My father wasn't one of them."
Silence stretched again, long and fragile.
Below them, Mirumania looked peaceful under the stars.
It was a lie.
"What about your parents?" she asked.
Ryo leaned back slightly, eyes fixed on the sky.
"I don't have any."
She turned toward him.
"I was passed through ninety-nine people," he continued. "Every time I tried to defend myself… they died."
Her brows furrowed.
"They said I brought misfortune. . That I only made things worse."
His voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
"Until I met someone who changed things," he added quietly. "But this isn't about me."
He shifted, facing her fully now.
"What are you going to do?"
The question wasn't soft.
It wasn't comforting.
It was real.
Ruqayya stood.
The scarf fluttered behind her like a banner refusing to fall.
"I'm going to become the strongest Raiki user."
Her voice didn't shake.
Her eyes were no longer empty.
They burned.
"Stronger than most of you," she continued. "Strong enough that no one can treat us like tools. Or threats."
She looked down at the district that had burned.
"I'll prove we aren't curses."
Ryo stood as well.
The moonlight caught in his gray eyes.
"Then do it."
No long speech.
No promise to protect her.
Just acknowledgment.
Strength respects strength.
For a moment, they simply stood there.
Two people beneath the same sky.
Carrying different kinds of pain.
But facing the same direction.
Eventually, without another word, they descended from the tower and returned inside.
The night seemed calmer.
But inside the palace—
It was anything but.
Deep within the throne room, golden chandeliers cast long shadows across polished marble floors.
Several armored soldiers knelt before the royal steps.
Their heads were lowered.
Their breathing controlled.
"We have done as you wished, young lord," one of them said.
Silence followed.
From the shadows near the tall stained-glass windows, a figure stepped forward.
The Prince.
His posture was elegant. Controlled. His robes untouched by ash or blood.
His expression?
Calm.
Too calm.
"And the King?" the Prince asked softly.
"He remains unaware of the details."
A small pause.
"Good."
The word landed without emotion.
The soldiers did not dare look up.
"There were casualties among the Raiki district," another reported carefully. "But resistance was minimal."
The Prince walked slowly across the throne room, fingertips brushing the armrest of the throne.
He did not sit.
Not yet.
"The unrest was growing," he said thoughtfully. "Power without guidance becomes instability."
"Yes, Your Highness."
He stopped at the base of the throne and turned slightly toward the kneeling men.
"A kingdom," he continued, voice smooth as polished steel, "cannot afford chaos within its own walls."
One of the soldiers hesitated.
"There are whispers among the people."
"There are always whispers," the Prince replied.
He stepped closer to the window overlooking Mirumania. Smoke still faintly curled upward from the lower districts.
His gaze was distant.
Calculating.
"If weeds are allowed to spread," he said quietly, "they suffocate the garden."
The room felt colder.
"Before a kingdom can be perfected…" he continued,
"…it must first be cleansed."
No anger.
No hatred.
Just belief.
One soldier felt a chill run down his spine.
"And if the King discovers this?" he asked cautiously.
The Prince's reflection shimmered faintly in the glass.
"By the time he understands," he said, "the people will already believe it was necessary."
He turned slightly, a faint smile touching his lips.
"The future requires sacrifice."
Outside, the kingdom mourned.
Inside, its future ruler refined his vision.
He did not see fire.
He saw order.
He did not see grief.
He saw progress.
And somewhere beneath the same sky—
Two young Raiki users had just chosen a different path.
The Prince believed he was shaping Mirumania's destiny.
He did not yet realize—
The ones he sought to cleanse
had begun to rise.