Chapter 3: You and I

It was better to walk away.

Azarim forced the thought into his mind. His body burned with barely contained fury, control hanging by a thread. One more word, one more insult, and he would snap. And then—who knew what would happen?

Just for one day, master yourself. This is for him.

He exhaled sharply, shifting his focus to the child riding on his back. The boy was beaming, oblivious to the storm raging within Azarim.

Ahead, the manor loomed in the distance. It stood apart from the rest of the neighborhood—a grand structure surrounded by sprawling land. Jagged metal spikes lined its walls, guarding the neatly trimmed lawns. At its center, a fountain bubbled, catching the glimmer of flickering lights.It had two structures, a grand mansion and a nearby tower, connected by a bridge.

Beyond the gates, shadows moved frantically against the glow of chandeliers. The entrance stood wide open, waiting for the flood of arriving guests.

They spotted Angelica near the entrance, gesturing sharply as she barked orders. Even from a distance, Azarim could see the exhaustion in her movements—yet she refused to slow down.

Azarim set Anzel down and took a good look at him.

Yes. No matter how he looked at it, his pants were still missing.

This would not end well if she saw him like this. Two years apart wouldn't soften the blow. Blood would be spilled.

The boy, realizing the problem, quickly covered himself, cheeks burning.

"Is something wrong, Father?"

"No," Azarim replied, already shrugging off his cloak. He draped it over Anzel's shoulders. "Do you want to see real magic? No tricks this time."

Anzel's eyes lit up, his head nodding furiously.

Azarim smiled. He straightened, took the boy's hand, and stepped toward the gate.

"Shall we?"

The moment he spoke, his cloak shimmered, turning translucent. It wrapped around him like mist, bending the light, making his body blend into the surroundings. He glanced down—his hand was seethrough against the pavement.

Together, they stepped forward, slipping silently inside.

Tables stretched from left to right, welcoming them inside. A massive chandelier hung overhead, casting a golden glow across the hall. Above it, etched into the ceiling, was a symbol of the Helleans—the wolf. There was a proverb, No bond is stronger than a family bathing in the blood of their enemies.

Azarim scanned the room for Angelica, but she was nowhere in sight. He guided Anzel toward the halls, but before he could take another step, the boy slipped from his grasp.

Anzel darted toward one of the tables, snatched a chicken leg, and took off.

Deckard, noticing the theft, immediately spun into action. His sharp gaze fell on the servants.

"Was it always like this?" he demanded.

"No, sir," one replied.

"Then care to explain why there's a piece missing?"

Anzel chuckled as he strolled away, flashing Azarim a mischievous nod while happily munching on his prize.

Azarim opened the door.

The room was overflowing with toys, yet none had been touched. Some remained sealed in their boxes, others still wrapped with ribbons, as if waiting for an owner who had never arrived.

Anzel shrugged off the cloak and raised his arms, wordlessly asking to be carried one more time.

Azarim lifted him without hesitation, walking toward the bed. As he stepped forward, he noticed a loose floor slab—most likely the reason the boy had slipped through unnoticed earlier.

Gently, he laid Anzel down.

"Tomorrow will be different," Azarim murmured. "You won't just be welcomed by me or those you know—but by this world."

Anzel's eyes widened. "Does that mean I can come with you?" He grinned, clutching the blanket Azarim had placed over him.

Azarim chuckled softly. "Someday. But for that to happen, you need to rest. You'll need all the strength you can get."

He placed a firm yet gentle hand on the boy's forehead.

"Now—"

"Please don't leave me again, Father."

Azarim froze. The words struck deep.

For a moment, he said nothing—then, he rested a hand on Anzel's head and ruffled his hair.

"After this," he whispered, "never again."

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against his son's. "Now, my son… sleep."

Anzel's breathing slowed. His small body relaxed, his expression at peace. Within moments, soft snores filled the room.

Azarim lingered, watching him for a while. Then, with a quiet exhale, he stood.

He had waited years for this—to hold his son, to speak with him, to feel his warmth. It was familiar, like Angelica's, yet different. In Anzel, he saw a reflection of himself as a child.

Azarim closed the door and took a moment to gather his thoughts.

"Well, how was he?"

Angelica's voice was smooth, but her silver eyes burned with curiosity. Her slender figure leaned against the wall, pale skin shimmering like scales beneath the dim light. The contrast of her white hair and the small horns protruding from her forehead made her look both ethereal and dangerous. Dressed in a petticoat that hugged her curves, she studied him, framed by eyelids dusted in a fiery orange hue.

"Aren't you supposed to be busy?" Azarim asked.

"Well, aren't you supposed to be back six months earlier?" she countered, stepping closer. "Were there… unforeseen circumstances?"

Azarim looked away.

Her voice softened, though concern lingered in her gaze. "You… met him, didn't you?"

"No."

"Is it related to him? Oh, come on, don't make me read you. I'm not a Weaver—I can't read minds."

Azarim's gaze flickered to her face. Even without trying, her mere presence was intoxicating. Her scent alone could make men fall to their knees, ready to surrender everything.

"I didn't find him," he admitted. "But I heard a rumor. And I confirmed it."

Angelica stilled, leaning in even closer. "What rumor?"

"That he's with her. The one who burned everything." His voice darkened, fury glinting in his eyes.

"Azza… look at me." She sat down, watching him carefully. "Do you want to talk about this now or later? If you need an ear, I'm here."

Azarim hesitated before speaking again. "Angelica… Do you think I'll become like him?"

Her expression softened. "Why would you think that?"

"I don't know." His voice dropped lower. "Our son… Do you think he likes me?"

Angelica's lips curved into a bright, knowing smile—the very same smile Anzel wore. "Of course he does,"

Azarim hesitated, then asked, "What does he think of me? Is he afraid of me? What does he like?"

Angelica chuckled, shaking her head. "Gods, you're hopeless." She reached out and patted his head with a smirk. "You're more handsome than I remember. Want me to tell you everything?"

Azarim nodded, silently bracing himself.

"Well," she began with a dramatic flourish, "he has my lovely hair, my beautiful face, and my adorable smile. He has my upright attitude, my playfulness, my skills, and—of course—my muscles." She flexed her arm, even though there was nothing particularly visible, watching Azarim's reaction with amusement.

His expression remained unreadable.

"Well, what did he get from you?" she teased, tilting her head.

She tapped her chin, pretending to think as she counted on her fingers. Azarim's stare remained unwavering.

"Azza," she finally said, grinning, "you are the kindest person I know. Hehe." Her laugh was light and teasing.

Azarim's eye twitched, his blood simmering at the remark. He turned away with an annoyed huff, refusing to engage.

Angelica leaned in, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "But I certainly missed you, Azza."

Before he could react, she pushed him against the wall, her body pressing into his. He barely had time to register the heat radiating from her before she inhaled deeply, her nose brushing against his neck.

Then—she bit him.

Azarim flinched, a quiet, involuntary sound escaping him.

Angelica pulled back slightly, licking her lips. "Mmm. Still tastes the same."

Azarim glared at her while she laughed, utterly unapologetic.

Angelica walked toward another room, trailing a teasing finger, silently urging him to follow. She peeked inside, then shot him a sultry wink before slipping through the doorway.

Azarim hesitated. His gaze flicked around, scanning for any onlookers. The hall was empty.

With a quiet exhale, he followed.