Harder and deeper

The candle's flame flickered, casting restless shadows that stretched and shrank against the stone walls, twisting like spectral dancers in the dim room.

Devrok stood beside the narrow window, his broad frame outlined against the muted glow of the city outside. His hands were clenched behind his back, the rigid line of his jaw betraying his tension as his sharp eyes combed the streets below, searching. The cool night breeze ghosted through the opening, carrying with it the distant murmur of voices and the occasional cry of a street hawk.

On the couch a few feet away, Roan let out a quiet sigh, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his wine cup. He had watched his nephew grow from a bright-eyed boy into the formidable swordsman he was today. Once, Devrok's confidence had been unshakable, a flame that burned with unrelenting brilliance. Now, after two consecutive failures, that flame flickered like the struggling candlelight before them.

Roan sighed again, deeper this time. There was still one final chance. But they both knew—the odds were impossibly slim.

Devrok finally turned from the window, his gaze steady and unreadable. "Has the news spread?"

Roan's brows lifted slightly at the unexpected question. He had anticipated inquiries about his father's condition, not this. A flicker of relief sparked in his chest—if Devrok had been too afraid to ask about the king, it would mean his spirit was truly broken. Instead, the young man's mind was still sharp, thinking ahead.

Roan rose from his seat, stepping beside him. "No need to worry," he said, voice low but firm. "No one in the city knows of the king's state."

Devrok exhaled, shoulders easing ever so slightly. The tension coiling within him loosened just a fraction, but Roan knew the relief was fleeting. If word got out, the chaos would be unimaginable. The people lived on the edge of calamity, their fragile peace resting solely on the presence of King Roosevelt Harrier. If they learned that the pillar holding their world together was crumbling, Mesarith would be swallowed by panic.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the steady crackle of the fireplace, its glow flickering over their somber expressions.

Finally, Roan spoke, his voice tinged with regret. "Nephew, you can't afford to waste any more time."

The words felt heavy, final. A sentence passed down to end the chapter of his nephew's hopes.

Devrok's gaze didn't waver. There was no outburst, no frustration, only a quiet acceptance that sent an unexplainable chill down Roan's spine. "You're right, Uncle. It appears I can only walk the false path now."

---

Hugo Harrier moved through the long corridor alone, the flickering torches casting elongated shadows along the cold stone walls. A gust of wind slipped through the half-opened window, whispering against his skin and sending an involuntary shiver down his spine.

His mind wandered, unbidden, to memories of King Roosevelt Harrier—the warmth of his presence, the strength in his voice, the kindness in his eyes. He had never been just a ruler; he had been family. Ever since childhood, Hugo had never wanted for anything. If Damien and Devrok received something, so did he. The king had treated him as one of his own.

A tight knot formed in his chest, guilt coiling within him like a lurking serpent.

But then, another voice echoed in his mind. Soft, soothing, yet edged with unyielding steel.

Mother wouldn't lie to me.

For the greater good, Roosevelt Harrier had to disappear.

His face hardened, the emotions within buried beneath a cold mask. Without realizing, he had already arrived at his room on the second floor.

A regal figure awaited him at the entrance. Adriana stood with effortless grace, her every movement exuding quiet dominance. Her serene smile did little to hide the sharp intelligence gleaming in her phoenix-like eyes. The air around her seemed to hum with authority, commanding respect with nothing more than her presence.

Hugo straightened instinctively. "Mother."

She inclined her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "My child, you are back."

"How is Roosevelt's state?" The question carried an undercurrent of something deeper, an unspoken expectation woven into her words.

Hugo hesitated before speaking, recounting everything he had seen in the room earlier. As he finished, he noticed the flicker in his mother's gaze—a glint of satisfaction hidden beneath layers of composed indifference.

Confusion gnawed at him. Despite her usual kindness, when it came to Roosevelt Harrier, Adriana's cruelty knew no bounds.

He hesitated, but the words clawed their way out. "Mother... Damien has failed to awaken, and there is no hope for Devrok's awakening either. Do we truly need to go this far?"

His voice wavered slightly at the end, betraying the inner turmoil he fought to suppress.

Adriana's gaze turned cold, her lips pressing into a thin line. "How naive. Have you already forgotten what I taught you?"

Her next words fell like a hammer blow. "Kingship knows no kinship."

Hugo stiffened, but she wasn't finished.

She stepped closer, voice dropping to a near whisper. "And let me tell you something, Hugo." Her eyes bore into his, sharp as a predator's. "That girl, Niomi—she awakened an A-grade talent. The World Devouring Golden Phoenix. Can you defeat her?"

His breath hitched. His fingers curled into fists.

"How is this possible?" he muttered, disbelief coating his words.

Adriana watched his shaken expression with silent satisfaction. Then, with the composure of someone who had seen it all, she began to explain the details as if she had witnessed everything firsthand.

---

The passage of time was relentless, indifferent to the turmoil unfolding within the kingdom.

The next day.

Damien awoke to the warmth of soft, supple skin beneath his palm.

His eyes flickered open, greeted by the sight of Niomi curled beside him, her dark lashes resting against flushed cheeks. A dreamy smile played on her lips, her breath slow and even. His large hand rested over the curve of her chest, rising and falling gently with each breath.

Then, she murmured in her sleep. "Yeah... please don't stop... harder... deeper..." Her voice was a whisper, laced with unguarded longing. "I'm your good girl..."

Damien blinked.

He arched a brow, barely suppressing a chuckle. So much for innocence.

Grinning slightly, he slid out of bed, stretching out the stiffness in his muscles. The moment his feet touched the cool floor, a voice drifted in from the hallway.

"Crown Prince, are you awake?"

The tone was soft yet composed, a familiar presence that sent a ripple of awareness through him.

"Elder Prince is waiting for you downstairs at the breakfast table."

Damien paused, frowning slightly.

Breakfast had always been served in his chambers. Why summon him downstairs?

Something was amiss.

Shaking off the unease, he quickly dressed in a flowing white robe and made his way downstairs, his mind already bracing for what awaited him.