The stone corridors of the royal estate echoed with chaotic, frantic shouting as servants rushed through the halls carrying Adrian's limp, bloodied form toward the inner sanctum of the tribal healers.
"Make way! Clear the hall! Move aside!"
The palace guards immediately stepped back, throwing the corridors wide open. And Thoris walked several steps behind them like a ghost, his broad chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged gasps. He moved like a man who no longer knew where he was. The biting chill of the mountain air brushed past him, but he didn't even feel it at all.
He didn't even hear the frightened, panicked whispers of the guards lining the hallways. His entire universe had suddenly narrowed down to one thing: his own hands. They were stained deep red with the blood of his newly wedded husband and the child he had proudly spoken about only hours ago, and his fingers trembled violently.
'What have I done...?' For the first time in many years, Prince Thoris Madurai was terrified.
The heavy doors to the tribal healers' sanctum burst open.
"Quickly! Lay him down here!"
The servants carefully placed Adrian onto the wide wooden treatment table lit by dozens of glowing mana lanterns, his face frighteningly pale.
The old tribal healer immediately stepped forward, barking commands.
"Bring the moonroot! Prepare the light seals! I want healing herbs now!"
Several younger healers hurried in every direction. "Yes, Elder! Right away! Prepare clean cloth!"
The room immediately descended into controlled chaos.
Thoris stopped in the doorway, his massive frame blocking part of the lantern light. For once, he had no idea what to do. He had always solved every problem with sheer strength alone, but now his strength was the very thing that had brought this destruction into his own hands. He took one hesitant step forward, his voice sounding unusually hollow and shattered, devoid of any of his usual booming arrogance.
"...Save them. Please... save Adrian. Save my child. I'm begging you."
Several healers paused, shocked, as none of them had ever heard Prince Thoris speak like that before. The room fell silent as the lead healer slowly turned around. Her sharp eyes settled on Thoris, taking in the blood coating his hands, his sleeves, and his chest, before finally meeting his pale and wild face. There was no fear in her eyes—only pure, absolute disappointment.
"Out, Prince Thoris," the old woman said coldly, her voice cutting through the air. "Leave. Your presence is poison inside this room. You brought this child here, so leave us to undo what your madness has done."
Thoris opened his mouth, but no words came out. The old woman pointed toward the exit.
"Go, before your guilt distracts those trying to save him."
Before Thoris could utter another word, two senior tribal warriors—men who had bled beside him for years—stepped beside him and placed heavy hands on his shoulders. But neither looked him in the eye.
"My prince... come with us. Let them work."
Thoris offered no resistance. He simply turned around and allowed himself to be guided back into the dark hallway. The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind him with a resounding *thud*, locking the strongest warrior of the Iron Steppes outside because no one wanted him near the person he had hurt.
*****
News of the tragedy moved through the Madurai stronghold before dawn like a wildfire in dry grass. Servants whispered amongst themselves, warriors lowered their voices, and even the children stopped playing.
Then by sunrise, the entire palace felt like a place of mourning.
Inside the Grand Pavilion, the atmosphere was even more suffocatingly tense. Emperor Cedric stood near the open balcony overlooking the valley, his hands resting on the hilt of his imperial sword, his expression an unreadable mask. Behind him stood Duke Reinhardt and Sir Phillip, both looking pale and subtly terrified, not daring to speak a word.
Heavy iron footsteps echoed through the pavilion as Thoris entered. He hadn't changed his clothes, and the dried blood still stained his tunic. His hands remained dirty and his head stayed lowered as he stared blankly at the stone floor.
"...He lives," Thoris muttered, his voice barely carrying across the room.
"...Adrian is alive. But... the child..." His throat tightened, the brutal reality sticking in his throat like broken glass.
Cedric slowly turned around, his voice quiet—far too quiet.
"What about my grandchild?"
Thoris swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment.
"The healers cannot tell. The heartbeat is still very weak."
Everything became still. Then—
*BOOM!*
A wave of crushing, golden mana exploded throughout the pavilion, forcing Duke Reinhardt onto his knees and Sir Phillip slightly crouched as they struggled to breathe. Cedric walked toward Thoris, each step heavy and deliberate, echoing like thunder. He stopped directly before him, his blue eyes ablaze with terrifying rage, before looking down at the dried blood staining Thoris's clothes.
And without another word
*SLAP!*
Mana exploded from Cedric's palm as the strike echoed through the hall, sending Thoris crashing into a stone pillar before he collapsed heavily onto one knee, blood running from the corner of his mouth. Thoris never raised a hand to defend himself. He had no right.
And Cedric walked toward him again, his voice hardening.
"Draw your sword."
Thoris remained kneeling, shaking his head. "...Your Majesty..."
"Draw it!"
"...I won't."
"Have you forgotten how to hold a weapon?"
"...No."
"Then pick it up!"
"...If I draw my sword, you intend to kill me."
Cedric didn't deny it.
"...Yes, indeed I intend to claim your head for my son's sake, that's only right."
Silence stretched across the hall and Thoris lowered his head even further.
"...Then do it. After Adrian wakes, after I apologize, and after he hears me... then I'll accept any punishment that you put on my shoulders your majesty."
Cedric's anger erupted once more.
"You still think this is about you?!" his voice shook with rage. "My son is lying between life and death! My grandchild may already be gone! And you're asking for time?! Did you forget Adrian's condition when you did that to him, or was it intentional from the start?!"
Thoris clenched his fists, shutting his eyes tightly.
"I lost control. I crossed the line, and I will forever regret it—"
"You chose to!" Cedric cut him off, sneering down at him with complete disgust.
"You call yourself a great warrior, but a warrior protects, shows restraint, and never raises his hand against someone who cannot fight back. You are nothing more than a coward who mistook strength for honor—a weak child who throws tantrums when he loses his toys!"
Thoris lowered his head even further.
"...I deserve those words."
Before Cedric could continue, Chieftain Tamil slowly stood up. His aged face carried deep, agonizing disappointment that was weighing on him.
"You failed to claim the future you desired, and I could have forgiven that, as defeat visits every warrior eventually," Tamil said quietly, his tone far more terrifying than a roar. "But this... you brought shame upon our family, upon our ancestors, and upon yourself. You acted like a cowardly beast against your own blood."
The words struck Thoris harder than Cedric's blow. His own father had condemned him.
Just then, the pavilion doors burst open. A young servant rushed inside and immediately dropped to her knees in panic. "Your Majesty! Great Chieftain!"
Cedric turned sharply. "...Speak!"
"Prince Adrian... He has awakened!"
Every person inside the pavilion turned toward her, a flicker of hope flashing across Thoris's face.
"But..." the servant hesitated, struggling to steady her breathing.
"...His behavior is volatile! Crown Prince Cassian and the Empress are trying hard to calm him down, but he refuses to let anyone touch him!"
Cedric immediately turned toward the exit. "Take me there."
Tamil followed without hesitation and Thoris quickly stood up, stepping forward. "...Father, I need to see him! I only want to apologize!"
Tamil stopped walking and looked back, his eyes colder than the winter outside.
"No. Haven't you done enough? Do you truly believe Adrian wishes to see the man who put him in that bed right now?"
"Trust me you will only make him worse."
Thoris stood frozen, unable to answer.
Just then Tamil's voice softened—not with kindness or fatherly love, but with profound disappointment.
"Stay away, Thoris. If there is even a shred of honor left inside you, stay away until Adrian himself decides whether he ever wishes to see your face again."
Thoris stood frozen in place, watching everyone leave one by one, until the pavilion became completely empty.
And for the first time in his life, the mighty warrior of the Iron Steppes found himself utterly alone.
*****