Seeing Dian relaxing, Gianna continued in a low voice, the weight of memory thick in her throat.
"Balios took me here and served a glass of water. Thinking it was simple hospitality… I drank it. And then…"
Her voice faltered. Her shoulders trembled. The words refused to come out.
Dian's expression darkened. He stood and walked to her, gently taking her hand in his.
"Don't worry. The past is behind you," he said softly. "You're safe now."
His voice was warm, but there was steel hidden beneath it—a silent promise that anyone who dared hurt her would pay dearly.
Gianna nodded, a faint smile on her face. The warmth of his hands grounded her. Her cheeks flushed pink—not just from embarrassment, but comfort. Safety.
"It's time to sleep," Dian said, turning around. "We leave at dawn."
But Gianna hesitated, watching his back. Something in his demeanor had shifted—like he was carrying more than just plans of departure.
"A-aren't you going to… settle things here first, Lord Dian?" she asked cautiously.
His steps halted.
"Hmm... I've been gone for nearly a month. If I delay any longer, it might cause more trouble," he replied, not turning back. "And… just call me Dian."
He turned to the butler. "Maria and her mother will handle things here."
The butler gave a small, respectful nod.
Without another word, Dian walked away. His footsteps echoed against the cold stone floor, each step growing fainter. The flickering candlelight and the moon's pale rays cast dancing shadows on the walls—tall, thin silhouettes that followed him like whispers in the dark.
But he wasn't the only one preparing to move.
...
Elsewhere…
"Where are you…" a man whispered.
He sat alone in a dim room, holding a photograph in his hands—his fingers trembling as they traced over its surface.
"I've become strong… strong enough to protect you."
His voice quivered, emotions threatening to consume him.
"But… you're gone."
His golden eyes shimmered under the candlelight, barely holding back the weight of sorrow. His shoulders were broad, his frame powerful—but in this moment, he looked fragile.
"I've searched everywhere… questioned everyone… and still—"
His voice broke. Then reformed, firm and quiet.
"I won't give up."
With trembling fingers, he reached to the drawer of the nightstand, gently placing the photo inside. The candlelight flickered over it for a final moment—a girl and a boy, smiling, standing side by side.
The man leaned forward. The flame caught his features fully now.
Blonde hair. Golden eyes. Chiseled face—handsome, striking, almost noble in stature. And the uniform—
A clean white coat with gold embroidery. The insignia on his shoulder gleamed faintly in the candlelight. A sword between two shields.
The royal crest of the Rindell family.
This was no ordinary man.
This was Leon—Major General Leon of the Kingdom of Rikos.
A legend among the capital's elite. Who reached Great Mage (1st stage) at a gae of 25. A commander of men. A warrior of unmatched skill. And a mystery to those who tried to get close. He had refused countless proposals, many from daughters of noble houses.
His answer was always the same:
"My heart belongs to someone else. I'm sorry."
He exhaled and extinguished the candle.
Time to sleep. Tomorrow was critical.
Earlier that day...
...
Royal Guard Training Grounds – Capital, Lian Town
Clang!
BOOM!
Steel clashed, sparks flying into the air. Magic spells detonated across the field in waves of smoke and color. Among the chaos, footsteps approached with urgency.
"Sir Leon," a guard called out, breathless.
"His Majesty has summoned you."
Leon, drenched in sweat, paused mid-swing. He turned slowly, his brow furrowed.
The King? Now?
He wiped his face, voice firm. "Understood. I'll be there shortly."
The guard bowed and departed.
Moments later...
Leon stood before towering palace doors, clad in his official white combat uniform. But this was no decorative attire—it was embedded with rare fibers, designed to channel mana swiftly, crafted for battle, not ceremony.
Metal armor slows magic. Kills efficiency. This uniform breathes magic... and war.
He entered the castle. The halls of Rindell royalty loomed around him—gilded windows, marble floors, enchanted candles that burned with cold flame. Power breathed in the walls.
Leon reached the grand hall, falling to one knee.
"Your Majesty," he greeted.
Across the room, atop the throne of Rikos, sat Reus Rindell—King of the kingdom. His silver hair and beard framed his regal face, eyes the color of dark wine. Time had creased his skin, but his presence had not diminished.
"Rise," the King commanded.
Leon stood.
"I have a task for you, Leon." Reus's voice was slow, deliberate.
"You're to go to the Skyster Family's main castle. Confirm if their young lord… Dian Skyster… is truly cured."
Leon's brow furrowed. He had heard whispers—rumors of Dian's resurgence, of a cleansing purge in the Skyster household. Quiet rumors that echoed across every noble hall.
"The kingdom stirs," Reus continued. "If the heir to the Skysters has returned, he could tip the balance of power. We cannot ignore him… not when their strength is enough to rival even us."
Leon gave a deep nod. "As you command."
Reus continued. " But ." His voice low now.
" Don't do anything inexplicably, both his mother and father lost their lives defending this kingdom. That family is a honoured one ".
Reus motioned to a nearby guard. The man stepped forward and presented something sealed in dark wax.
"And if he is truly recovered," Reus said, "deliver this."
Leon accepted it, eyes narrowing.
A royal letter... He noted the seal. The mark of the Rindell family. This wasn't just recognition—it was something heavier. Strategic.
He bowed. "I will leave at first light."
Reus's eyes lingered on him a moment longer, unreadable.
"Good."
Leon turned and departed. His footsteps echoed through the castle.
...
Outside, as Leon reached the royal stables, a junior officer ran to him, slightly out of breath. "Sir Leon, may I assist you in preparation?"
Leon shook his head. "No need. I ride alone."
"But sir," the officer hesitated, "a mission ordered directly by His Majesty... surely an escort—"
Leon's sharp gaze silenced him. "This is not a mission for steel or numbers. This is a matter of presence. One wrong word could tilt the balance."
With that he left for his quarter...
But the air felt heavier now. The kind of weight that came not from fear...
…but from what was waiting to be uncovered.
.
.