(Royal Palace, Velmoria — Night)
The palace had fallen unnaturally silent.
Eyan sat in his office, the faint blue glow of the magic communicator resting on the desk before him. For a long moment, he did not touch it. His gaze lingered on the rune-lit surface.
Finally, he reached out. The communicator flared to life.
A familiar voice answered from the other side, sharp and mildly irritated. "What do you want, Eyan?"
Eyan's fingers curled slowly against the desk. "Luca… what are you doing?"
A pause. Then a scoff.
"Nothing. Just working on something. Why do you ask?"
Eyan inhaled, steadying himself. "You once told me you found a way to end the Dragon King. Was that true?"
Silence.
Then Luca's tone changed—alert, cautious. "…Yes. I did. Why are you asking? You already told me you would never release the dragon kin—"
"I'm doing it," Eyan interrupted quietly.
On the other side, Luca froze. "…You're what?"
"I'm releasing Zeradros."
For a heartbeat, Luca said nothing—then his voice lifted, sharp with disbelief and something dangerously close to excitement. "Really? You're actually releasing the dragon?"
"Yes." Eyan's voice was flat, stripped of emotion. "So whatever method you found—after I release Zeradros, you use it. You can end him… right?"
Another pause. This one heavier.
"…Yes," Luca finally said. "I can do it."
"Good."
"When will you release him?"
"Tomorrow."
"Then I'll come before that—"
"No," Eyan cut in, firmer now. "Come after I release the dragon."
Luca frowned, unease creeping into his voice. "…Alright."
Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.
"…Are you done?" Luca asked at last. "If so, I'll cut the call."
"Luca."
"Hm?"
Eyan hesitated. For just a fraction of a second, the mask cracked. "…Take care of yourself."
"What? Why are you saying this—"
The communicator went dark.
The abrupt cut echoed louder than any farewell.
Eyan slowly lowered his hand and deactivated the device completely. He exhaled, a deep breath that felt like the last one before a plunge.
Then he turned.
Hans stood a few steps behind him, concern etched deeply into his face.
"Hans," Eyan said calmly, "did you prepare the papers I asked for?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Hans stepped forward and handed him a thick stack of documents. Eyan took them, his eyes scanning every line with meticulous care—titles, seals, names, transfers.
"Good," Eyan murmured. "Everything is in order."
He set the papers down, picked up the quill, and began signing—one page after another. His hand never trembled.
When he finished, he placed the quill aside and handed the documents back to Hans.
"Keep these to yourself," Eyan said quietly. "When the time comes… you must handle everything."
Hans's voice wavered.
"Your Majesty… are you going somewhere?"
Eyan stilled. Slowly, he turned his head. "No," he said. "Why would you ask that?"
Hans clenched the papers tighter.
"Then why are you transferring your entire fortune—to Her Majesty and to Master Luca?"
A faint smile touched Eyan's lips. A gentle one. Too gentle.
"Why are you so worried?" he said lightly. "I'm only being cautious. I don't know what might happen to me after I release the Dragon King—"
"Your Majesty, please don't say that," Hans broke in, tears spilling over. "Nothing will happen to you."
Eyan chuckled softly. "…Hans, are you crying?"
Hans turned away, wiping his eyes hastily.
Eyan stood and grasped Hans by the shoulders, firm and grounding.
"Don't worry," Eyan said. "I'm not saying something will happen to me. But I must make sure Eva is protected—no matter the outcome."
His gaze hardened slightly.
"If nothing happens… you may burn these papers yourself. Understood?"
Hans nodded through his tears. "…Yes, Your Majesty."
Eyan released him and turned back toward the darkened window, the weight of the coming dawn pressing heavily against his chest.
Tomorrow, fate would be unsealed.
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(King Thalor Therald's Chamber — Late Night, Royal Palace of Velmoria)
The corridor outside the king's chamber was silent, lit only by flickering torchlight. Eyan stood there for a moment, steadying his breath, before knocking.
Knock. Knock.
"Enter," came the familiar, weary voice.
Eyan pushed the door open and stepped inside.
King Thalor Therald sat by the hearth, cloaked in shadows, seated on a carved wooden chair. The firelight traced the silver in his hair and the lines etched by years of rule and sacrifice.
"Father," Eyan said softly, bowing his head. "You're still awake?"
Thalor's gaze lifted to his son. "Yes… for some reason, sleep refuses to claim me tonight." He studied Eyan carefully. "What brings you here at this hour, Eyan?"
For a moment, Eyan said nothing.
His hands curled slowly into fists.
Then, finally—
"Father… I'm releasing the Dragon King."
The crackle of the fire was the only sound that followed.
Thalor did not react at once. His expression remained calm, though his eyes sharpened. "Then something very precious must be at stake."
Eyan nodded. "Yes. Something I cannot afford to lose."
Silence stretched between them.
Thalor's voice softened. "Do you love her?"
"I do," Eyan answered without hesitation. "I love her."
"And what relationship do you share with her?"
Eyan swallowed. His voice trembled despite his effort to steady it.
"She is my wife. And she's carrying my child." His eyes darkened with fear. "I can't stand by and watch my wife and my child die."
Thalor closed his eyes briefly, as if the weight of generations pressed upon him. When he opened them again, his decision was clear.
"Then do it," the king said firmly. "Release Zeradros.....And make sure nothing happens to my daughter-in-law… or my grandchild."
Eyan's voice broke. "I'm sorry, Father… I don't have a choice." He swallowed hard, his eyes burning. "Because of me… you will—"
"Don't apologize, my son," King Thalor said gently. "And don't worry about me. I have lived long enough."
Thalor let out a slow sigh, as though forcing himself to step away from grief before it swallowed them both.
"Forget all that," he said quietly, straightening. "Tell me this. Do you have a plan to deal with Zeradros?"
"Yes. Luca will handle him," Eyan replied. "He said he's found a way to end him."
Thalor's brows furrowed slightly. "He did…?"
Then, sharply, "You didn't tell Luca about the punishment, did you?"
"No," Eyan said quickly. Then he let out a quiet, laugh. "You know how stubborn he is, Father. If he learned about the punishment, he'd never let me release the dragon."
Thalor chuckled softly. "You're right…"
His expression soon turned serious again. "Have you decided who will take the throne in your place?"
"Yes," Eyan answered quietly. "Luca will rule until the child comes of age."
"And if he refuses?"
"He won't." Eyan lowered his eyes. "He may curse me for this, but he would never turn his back on Eva or the child."
Thalor nodded. "Good, then."
A silence fell—thick, pressing.
"When will you release Zeradros?" Thalor asked.
"Tomorrow."
"Alright."
The king rose from his chair and crossed the chamber. His steps were slow, deliberate, as if each one carried the weight of an ending.
"May I have a hug from my son," King Thalor asked softly, "before you release the dragon?"
Eyan smiled—and stepped forward.
The moment Thalor's arms wrapped around him, Eyan's breath caught. The embrace was firm, familiar, unbearably warm. For a heartbeat, he felt like a child again, sheltered from a world that asked too much of him.
"Are you done?" Eyan asked weakly, trying to laugh.
"No," Thalor murmured. "Stay like this… just a little longer."
"Ah… this is embarrass—"
"Cry."
Eyan went still.
"You don't have to pretend to be strong in front of your father," Thalor whispered. "You can cry all you want."
The words broke him.
Eyan's shoulders shook violently as a sob ripped from his chest—high, broken, unrestrained. He clutched his father like a frightened child, fingers curling tightly into his back, his face pressed against Thalor's shoulder.
He cried without restraint—messy, breathless sobs, the kind he hadn't allowed himself since childhood. His body trembled in Thalor's arms as if he were a boy again, lost and afraid of the dark.
Thalor held him tighter, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other rubbing slow circles against his spine. Tears streamed down the king's face as well, silent and helpless.
"Let it out, my son," Thalor whispered. "I've got you."
And for that moment—just that moment—
Eyan was no king, no doomed man.
He was only a child, crying in his father's arms, before the world took him away.
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