Chapter 5

"Stop, Mother."

It was a simple request.

But the world itself hesitated.

The air in the great hall thickened, pressing against the walls, against the very fabric of time itself. The torches dimmed, their flames flickering as shadows stretched unnaturally long across the marble floors.

It was as if reality itself had paused, waiting to see if my words were truly meant to be spoken.

Mother stopped.

Slowly, she turned to face me, her golden eyes gleaming—predatory, unblinking.

The hall remained utterly silent.

And then—

"Hey, Prince, do you know who you're talking to?"

Every head in the room turned toward the King.

The serpents. The mortals. Even my siblings, who had been casually enjoying the show.

Every single pair of eyes locked onto the man as if he had just spat in the face of fate itself.

The weight of his words crashed down on him like a mountain.

His expression shifted from mild exasperation to sheer, unfiltered regret.

He froze.

His own blood ran cold.

Did he… Did he really just say that?

Did he just—correct me?

Did he forget—who I am?

The hall, which had already been tense, now felt unnatural, as if something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

Even the serpents—who had just been grumbling about favoritism—went dead silent.

One of them actually hissed, "Did he just—?"

Another, eyes wide, muttered, "Oh, he's dead. He's absolutely dead."

Krios, my ever-enjoyable brother, grinned. "Oh, this is going to be good."

Mother, however, said nothing.

She simply looked at the King.

A long, silent look.

A look that had likely sent entire warriors to their graves before a battle even began.

The King, finally realizing what he had done, seemed to shrink into his throne.

He swallowed.

And then, finally, I spoke.

"It's not fair," I said, breaking the silence. "Only taking favors from someone like Velmor… and giving nothing in return."

For a brief moment, the hall remained still, uncertainty crackling in the air like a storm waiting to break.

Then, the serpents—oh, the serpents—erupted.

"Oh? Oh?? OH??" one of them hissed dramatically. "Our dear prince has a sense of fairness? Since when?"

"This is new. I kind of like it."

"Wait, wait, does this mean we get something in return? Because I would like a shrine. A big one. With gold."

"Oh, stop. You don't even like gold."

"I like it when others don't have it."

Meanwhile, the King looked even worse than before.

His throat visibly bobbed as he struggled to process what was happening.

Because now—not only was he forced to shelter Medusa's son, but Medusa's son was actively negotiating.

And that meant something very dangerous.

It meant that I was not just here as a guest.

I was here to bargain.

To demand fairness.

To ensure Velmor was not left with nothing.

That I was not just passing through.

That I was here to stay.

The serpents continued their playful bickering, but the King?

He looked like a man who had just realized he was already in the grave.

And Mother?

Mother simply watched, her expression unreadable.

Then, after a long moment, she spoke.

"And what is it you demand in return, my son?"

Her voice did not rise, yet it swallowed the room whole. It was not a question. It was not permission. It was law, spoken into existence. The weight of her words pressed against my chest, against my bones, as if the very world had been bound in chains of fate, and I—her own son—was ensnared within them.

Her voice was calm, but there was something deeper in her words.

Something undeniable.

"The Seal."

The moment I spoke those words, the air in the hall shifted.

For the first time since my mother's arrival, the mortals present—nobles, advisors, warriors—showed something other than fear.

Hope.

Excitement flickered in their eyes, cautious yet undeniable.

The serpents, however, were stunned. Some of them hissed softly, exchanging glances of confusion and disbelief.

"Did… did he just say The Seal?"

"I think he did."

"That's not what I expected."

"You expected bloodshed."

"And? I still say it was a reasonable expectation."

My brother, Krios—typically known for his playful and carefree nature—stiffened the moment he heard my request. His arms, once lazily crossed, slowly dropped to his sides. His expression turned cold, serious. He knew me well. He knew I was not naive. He knew I fully understood the weight of my own words.

And that realization unsettled him.

The others felt it, too. Nyssa, Nihaga, and the serpents who had been basking in the entertainment of this spectacle… all fell into silence. The change in their demeanor sent a message—this was no ordinary request.

The King.

For the first time since this ordeal began, the King's expression changed. His terror—the pure, suffocating fear that had nearly consumed him—was replaced by something else.

Ambition.

For the first time since my mother entered his hall, he wasn't cowering like a man about to lose everything.

He was looking at me as a ruler.

And as a ruler… he saw an opportunity.

Because The Seal—the legendary contract that bound strong nations to protect weaker lands—was not just a request.

It was a declaration.

It meant that I was not here as a burden.

I was here to elevate this kingdom.

To tie it—unshakably—to the might of Medusa herself.

To the Gorgon Queen.

To the serpents who lurked in the shadows, ready to spill blood at the slightest insult.

To me.

The weight of my words settled over the room, and I could feel every single being present processing it.

The mortals, who had been fearing for their lives just moments ago, now stood a little taller.

The serpents, once vying for my attention with competitive jealousy, were now silent, taking in the implications.

And the King?

The King was beginning to see the vision.

He exhaled slowly, his fingers gripping the arms of his throne.

Then, in a voice that still held a hint of hesitation, but also growing determination, he spoke.

"You wish for this kingdom to hold The Seal?"

I nodded.

"Under the Seal, this land will be protected. Strengthened. It will stand among giants, never to fall to war, calamity, or divine judgment."

I looked at him, my golden eyes gleaming.

"And all it costs you… is your loyalty."

The King hesitated.

Not because he doubted the offer.

But because, in that moment, he realized…

He wasn't negotiating with a boy.

He was negotiating with a son of Medusa.

A being who, in time, could rise beyond the gods themselves.

And for the first time, he understood exactly what that meant.

The hall had been steeped in tension, weighed down by Raezel's words. The Seal of Medusa—an impossibility, a request beyond comprehension—had left the mortals in awe, the serpents in stunned silence. Even Krios, ever-playful, had stiffened at the gravity of it.

The King had begun to understand. To see the vision Raezel had placed before him. To glimpse what it meant to stand beneath Medusa's protection. And then—before that vision could fully take root—

War itself arrived.