The open country

The day for Ceremus and Atilla to depart had arrived, and Anemone could hardly contain his worry at the thought of the two venturing into the unknown, unaware of the dangers awaiting them.

And so, the advisor did something he hoped he wouldn't come to regret when all of this was over. He descended into the dungeons, where prisoners were kept, making his way to a specific section built to hold those with divine power or sorcery.

Anemone ignored the glares of hatred and contempt from the prisoners as he passed. He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Your anger is, unfortunately, misplaced. I am not the one who put you in here, he thought to himself.

He walked past a group of pirates, captured and stowed away in the ship after their attack. They sat in weary silence, awaiting their trial.

Finally, he caught sight of a guard and gave him a nod. "Is she still here?" Meaning—is she still sane?

The guard nodded. "She's more resilient than she looks," he replied.

Anemone raised a brow. Few could survive a week in the royal dungeons—let alone nine.

He approached the heavily guarded cell and was met with a sea of midnight hair. The prisoner sat with her head bowed, her lips quirking up slightly at the corner as if sensing his presence.

"Has my time finally come?" she asked, her voice soft and mellow, yet carrying a sharp edge.

"Unfortunately not, Meliše. But I do have something I'd like to discuss with you," the advisor said.

"Oh? That king of yours still hasn't decided my fate?" she mused, raising her head. Her blue-green eyes met Anemone's with a cold, piercing intensity.

The advisor gulped unconsciously, steeling himself. "…How you choose to answer my question shall decide your fate."

~*~

The pair set off at dawn, fully prepared for the journey ahead. Since they were heading toward a colder region, they packed accordingly. With their horses as their mode of transportation, they could reach the next town within a day's time.

By evening, they arrived at a small, remote village that was already asleep, save for a few late-night wanderers moving between the dim lantern-lit streets.

They took a brief rest at a nearby inn, where Ceremus had his first proper meal of the day while Atilla pored over the map, tracing the path that would take them further north. Ceremus noticed how quiet the boy had been throughout their journey and realized they had barely spoken since leaving.

Under normal circumstances, the king wouldn't have minded, often finding silence more comforting. But given that they would be traveling together for days, a chilly and distant atmosphere would serve neither of them well. Building a good rapport would be beneficial, and the longer Ceremus spent time with Atilla, the more curious he became. The boy was bright and possessed a maturity beyond his years—Ceremus had no doubt he would fare well—but he was still a child. Even the sharpest and most resilient minds could be tested by long, arduous journeys.

"You've traveled through the Nahatian region before," Ceremus said, breaking the silence. "What should we expect as we head deeper into the northern lands?"

Atilla looked up from the map, momentarily surprised by the sudden question, which made Ceremus feel a twinge of guilt.

"The cold will bite harder the further we go," Atilla said in a low voice. "But it's the winds that are dangerous. They can freeze a man to the bone in minutes if you're not careful. There are also bandits in the mountains, though I know some safe paths through the valleys."

Ceremus nodded. "I see."

Silence settled between them once more. Atilla hesitated, glancing between the map and the king. His eyes brimmed with curiosity, itching to ask a question that had been on his mind since their journey began—no, even before that.

As if sensing his gaze, Ceremus took a sip of the warm cider he had ordered and cast the boy a knowing look. He could tell Atilla wanted to ask something, so he waited patiently.

Atilla pressed his lips into a thin line before finally speaking. "Um… Your Majesty?"

"Refrain from calling me that. Since we are moving further away from Trojas, it wouldn't be wise for you to address me as such."

"Oh." Atilla paused. "Then what should I call you?"

Ceremus set down his drink, thinking for a moment. Given their circumstances, it would be best for them to appear as though they shared a close relationship.

"Hmm. Call me 'Eldest Brother,'" he decided.

Atilla nearly choked on his drink, looking up at the king with wide eyes. "I-I beg your pardon?!"

Ceremus had to resist the urge to laugh at his reaction. "You heard me. We need to blend in, and posing as brothers is the perfect disguise." He shrugged.

"W-Who would believe that?! We look nothing alike!" Atilla exclaimed.

"Families come in different shapes, colors, and sizes. If anyone asks, we'll say I take after our mother and you take after our father." Ceremus said nonchalantly.

Atilla's mouth hung open in disbelief. He had often heard that the king had a rather… unconventional personality, often doing as he pleased, but he always chalked it up to eccentricity. He never believed Ceremus was outright deranged. How could someone of his standing dare to suggest something so absurd?

Yet, seeing how serious Ceremus was, Atilla knew there was no room to argue. With a resigned sigh, he relented.

"…Alright then… Elder Brother, there is something I'd like to ask you."

Oh? He gave in quicker than I thought. Ceremus leaned back. "What is it?"

"I was wondering about the purpose of this journey. Why are we traveling so far?"

Ceremus was silent for a moment before answering.

Tiresias, the enigmatic figure, was said to hold the key to the mysterious plant that could save Hael. The king had searched for him for months, but only recently had he learned of his whereabouts. He couldn't afford to waste time—not when Hael's life hung in the balance. 

Atilla's face softened upon hearing this. Everything was finally making sense. Still, there was something else he was curious about.

"…What is the nature of your relationship with Sir Hael, if you don't mind me asking?"

Ceremus said nothing for a long time, but his eyes darkened—just for a moment—before turning gentle once more.

Even a child like Atilla could sense it. A deep-seated longing.

His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the king, unable to put into words the emotions he was witnessing.

Just when he thought he wouldn't get an answer, Ceremus spoke.

"He is someone I care for… deeply."