Dimitri looked away from the others, his jaw tightened. The sky above the arena was beginning to clear, but his mind was clouded with dread. That incident… the massacre of newborns five months ago—he'd done everything to erase it. It was supposed to be a secret. 'How did he find out?'
Ragnar's words weren't just an accusation. They were a warning. And the way Aura and Frederik glanced at each other made his stomach twist. They knew. Maybe not everything, but they knew enough, which meant one thing, they had planted a spy in his Empire.
Frederik crossed his arms. "You said only children born at the cursed hour were killed. But I heard rumors that one survived."
Dimitri didn't move. They even knew as much as that?
He still remembered the mother who had come weeping, begging for him to save her daughter and newborn son that went missing during the massacre.
He looked at the others, his jaws clenched, but he didn't say a word. He didn't know who the child was as they were unable to find the missing siblings. But the timing, the strength… it made his blood run cold.
Aura's voice was softer this time, but sharper too. "A boy… born at the cursed hour. You buried that secret, didn't you?"
Ragnar chuckled, but there was no amusement in his eyes. "And now that child's power nearly destroyed our strongest barrier in centuries. Are you sure you buried the right one?"
A tremor passed through Dimitri's spine. His silence only confirmed their suspicions.
"We don't know if it's the same child," he said slowly, trying to maintain control. "We don't know anything for certain yet."
Aura tilted her head. "Then maybe it's time we find out."
The tension between them crackled like broken glass. All of them had ruled with secrets. But Dimitri's secret—if it was true—might undo everything.
Frederik approached Dimitri, his voice low and firm, but his eyes gleamed with greed. "If this child is real… He might have the last shard of the Chaos Artifact…"
Dimitri didn't let him finish. "That's not possible, the last shard had gone missing for a hundred years. I will handle this problem."
Frederik stared at him. "Will you? Or are you hoping someone else will do the dirty work again?"
Dimitri's fists clenched. "This time, I won't hesitate."
Frederik scoffed. "You already did. That's why we're here."
He turned his back and walked away, but his parting words hung in the air like a blade: "If I find him first, don't expect mercy."
Aura was watching too. Her expression unreadable, her eyes distant. But inside, something old and cold was stirring. She had seen that power before. Touched it. Been kissed by it. And stabbed it through the heart.
And yet, it was still alive.
She parted her lips, her voice cold and even. "He shouldn't have survived. But if he did… then the world's about to change again."
Ragnar leaned against a broken pillar, smiling faintly. "Maybe for the better. Maybe not. Either way, it's going to be fun."
"We need to launch a hunt party for the demon child. We can't let him live." Dimitri said, his voice devoid of emotion.
Dimitri looked out across the ruined arena. The once-glorious stage was now nothing but scorched earth and rubble. Dimitri clenched his fist in anger and resolve.
They doubted him. Always had. To them, he was nothing more than the heir of a legend—a pale imitation of his father, the great Emperor who had once sealed the same demon now stirring again. And now… history was repeating itself.
'Maybe this is my chance,' he thought bitterly. 'To show them I'm not just walking in his footsteps. I am his son.'
If this truly was the same monster from a century ago… then fate had handed him a rare opportunity. To finish what his father started. To rise above the whispers and dismissals. To prove that he wasn't just surviving in his father's shadow—but strong enough to eclipse it.
He straightened his spine. "I will find the child," he muttered under his breath. "And I will end this before it begins again."
—
Far from the arena, In the chambers of the palace, Kaelith lay unconscious, his small form covered in sweat. The sealing had drained him, but the faint pulse of magic still lingered deep in his chest, like a storm asleep beneath calm waves.
Plum sat beside him, cradling his hand. Her clothes were stained from Agnes' blood, but her concern never wavered. She wiped his forehead gently, whispering in a shaky voice, "You're still here… that means she succeeded."
Her gaze shifted to Agnes, who lay unconscious on the bed. Though she had treated her wound, Agnes looked pale and drenched in sweat.
Plum's lips quivered. "Please wake up my lady."
....
Inside Kaelith's mind.
The dark clouds raged above like they were alive, constantly shifting and crashing into each other. Lightning cracked through the sky, thick and angry, splitting open the heavens again and again. Each thunderclap felt like a scream.
And Kaelith was right in the middle of it.
His baby form sat on cracked obsidian ground, knees drawn to his chest, shivering slightly—not from cold, but from confusion.
"Where am I?" he whispered, his voice lost in the wind.
This wasn't the lava sea.
This place was something else.
It was like a battlefield. A battlefield between powers that had no names.
His eyes flicked around. There were no stars in the sky. No light. Just swirling clouds, flashing bolts, and an oppressive feeling pressing against his small shoulders.
"I don't belong here…" he mumbled.
But the truth was, he did. This was the space between his sealed self and his conscious mind. A crack in the seal. A space Agnes had accidentally opened while trying to hide his powers.
He didn't know how to move. His body felt heavy. The artifact was gone, and so was the floating baby. Yet he could feel them both—somewhere nearby. Waiting. Watching.
And worst of all, he could feel something else.
A pull. It was faint but growing stronger. Something… or someone… was trying to reach him from beyond the veil.