While Kael was learning more about the world, the seeds of his deeds were still growing in the Rozenmore Kingdom, especially in Ralanor City.

Because Arren Banaron, the lord of Ralanor City, had expected the summons from his father on the night he returned from Veldera after failing to find Kael.

But it didn't come.

There was no summons for two days straight until today, when it came early in the morning.

It was a letter written for him, sent by a masked man who worked for his father.

The message in the letter was short, polite, and cold, written by his father. "Come to the estate. At once."

Now, as the Banaron crest loomed beyond the mist, Arren's heart beat with an unfamiliar weight.

The journey from Ralanor to the estate took around half an hour using flight magic, yet every minute stretched like punishment.

Without delay, he landed softly before the main hall. The maids and butlers in the hallway greeted him, but he paid them no mind.

He straightened his collar, brushed the frost from his cloak, and entered.

The chamber was quiet when he stepped inside.

Marquis Banaron sat at his great oaken desk, the morning light falling cold through the stained glass behind him.

His hair—deep blue—was streaked faintly with gray now, though his posture remained as upright and regal as ever.

By his side stood the head butler, Marthis, hands clasped neatly behind his back.

Arren bowed slightly. "Father."

The marquis did not look up.

His quill continued scratching, steady and rhythmic, as though Arren weren't there at all.

Only when the silence had grown long enough to bite did the older man speak, his voice smooth, measured, and soft in a way that always carried more danger than shouting.

"Tell me, Arren," he said, his eyes still on the parchment. "Do you think letting your brother wander into the Great Forest of Rugarda was the right decision?"

Arren blinked once, his composure tightening. "…I didn't let him go. He never told me he was going there."

"Ah." The quill paused, but the marquis still didn't look up. "Then it was merely negligence. I see."

"That's not—"

The marquis finally looked at him, and when he did, his blue eyes were as sharp as broken ice. "Do not lie to me."

The words struck harder than they should have.

"I know both of you," the marquis continued, rising slowly to his feet. The faint rustle of his cloak sounded louder than it should in the still air. "Brothers, yes. But always circling each other like wolves that haven't decided which one gets to eat first. Do you think I'm blind?"

Arren clenched his jaw. "I never intended—"

"To kill him?" His father's voice sliced clean through the air. "No, perhaps not. But you did intend to use him. Push him until he breaks. Convenient, isn't it, that Vaelen—your younger brother—is a simpler creature? Honest. Blunt. Easy to predict. Easier still to sacrifice."

That word, "sacrifice," hung between them like poison.

Arren's calm cracked for the first time. "You think I wanted this? He left on his own accord. I didn't send him anywhere."

The marquis tilted his head. "And yet, somehow, your silence paved the way for him. Your clever little hints. Your subtle words. You think I don't know about them? You think I don't know what my son is?"

Arren felt his throat tighten. "I—"

He wanted to defend himself again, but before he could—

"Enough." The marquis turned fully toward him now, his gaze heavy with years of rule and disappointment. "Vaelen may be reckless, but he's not venomous. He fights his enemies with a sword. You, however, despite being strong, prefer the tongue and the mind."

He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. "Tell me, Arren—between the two of you, who do you think is more fit to inherit my seat? A guy who would do what I tell him to do or one who would think of ways to get rid of me as soon as he takes my place?"

The words hit harder than any spell.

Arren's lips parted, but no sound came out.

For the first time, his eyes betrayed him—flickering with something raw and unmistakable: betrayal.

The marquis noticed. He exhaled slowly and sank back into his chair. "Do you truly think I'd praise you for this? For driving your brother into a forest where even I would tread carefully?"

"I'm tracking him," Arren said, his voice taut. "If anything happens, I'll know immediately—"

"And then what?" The marquis's voice rose—not in volume, but in force. "Will you teleport to him, Arren? Will you tear space apart and rescue him yourself?"

His tone turned scathing. "You can't. You're not strong enough. You're clever, yes—but even you can't do that. Even if you could, you wouldn't, so don't tell me otherwise."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Arren stood there, fists trembling at his sides.

Every polished word he could've said died behind clenched teeth.

He wanted to shout—wanted to tell his father that he was the eldest, he was the rightful heir, and that Vaelen didn't deserve to be part of the competition in the first place.

No, it was never a competition.

Arren was smarter. In any fight, Arren would win. He even had the support of the royals.

He had every quality to be the Marquis's successor, but he wasn't.

All because Vaelen was not someone who could be ignored.

However, he could say all that to his father because he knew it would make things worse.

His father believed in the long-standing traditions, and according to those, one had to be worthy of succeeding him in his position.

So, in the end, all that came out was a thin breath through his nose.

"…Understood," he said at last, voice flat and cold.

The marquis watched him for a long moment.

Then, with a faint wave of his hand, he said, "Go. Reflect on what kind of man you're becoming."

Arren turned on his heel and left. The doors shut behind him with a soft thud that echoed like a verdict.

When the silence settled again, Marthis spoke quietly. "He doesn't seem to have taken your words as goodwill, my lord."

The marquis didn't respond immediately. His shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of years visible at last.

"I know," he murmured. "But what can I do, Marthis? Beat him? He'll only grow colder. Lock him away? He'll only rot with resentment."

His voice softened. "He's still my son. And no matter how sharp his poison, I cannot bring myself to kill him."

Marthis's expression remained unreadable. "Then what will you do?"

The marquis turned to the tall window overlooking the distant northern forest. The horizon glowed faintly with the pale light of the dawn.

"Keep watching them both," he said at last. "Use the tracking sigil. Don't lose sight of either."

"Yes, my lord."

The marquis fell silent again, fingers tracing absently across the desk.

Neither Arren nor Vaelen knew it, but the marquis had been tracking them for a long time.

He knew how unstable they were, so he had always kept an eye on them.

He knew where they went, when they went, and how long they stayed.

So, of course, he knew about their venture into Veldera City.

Until now, for the past two days, he had been observing Vaelen's movements, and hence, he was unable to meet with Arren.

If Arren knew about this, he would realize how foolish he was, hoping that his father would call him back on his own so that he could find out Vaelen's whereabouts.

The marquis never needed any help.

Heck, he only called Arren to meet right now because Vaelen, who had been moving carefully for the past two days, avoiding the region lords' territories, had finally stopped somewhere.

One thing the marquis knew was that Vaelen was safe. But the problem was that—

"Vaelen's already too deep," Marthis said quietly. "He's A-rank, my lord. Entering that forest violates the treaty."

"I know."

"Then—"

"It was Arren," the marquis said, his eyes narrowing. "I'm sure that boy provoked Vaelen. He always knew which string to pull."

The room dimmed with the shadow of his words.

Outside, wind stirred through the blue banners of House Banaron, whispering against the walls like a warning.

The marquis leaned back, exhaling long and slow. "All we can do now is wait. Until the king's order comes through, as I can't even get near the border without his permit."

His gaze drifted back toward the forest—toward where both his sons walked paths he could no longer reach.

"God help him," he murmured, his teeth gritting. "Because I no longer can."

..............................

Meanwhile, deep within the forest of Rugarda, beneath canopies so thick that sunlight broke through like scattered spears of gold, the world was silent save for the crackle of a small fire.

Vaelen Banaron sat before it, the orange glow washing over his sharp features. His red hair caught the firelight like liquid flame, his blue eyes half-lidded as he turned a skewer of roasted meat over the flame.

"Two days," he muttered, chewing slowly. "Not a single damn person. No beasts, no bandits… nothing."

The forest had a way of swallowing sound. Even his own voice seemed to vanish before it reached the cave walls.

He sighed, leaning back against the rock, the three swords strapped to his body clinking faintly. "I can't even tell which way the city is anymore. North? West?"

He clicked his tongue. "Should've marked the trees. Stupid."

It turns out that he hadn't been avoiding the region lords' territories; he was just lucky enough not to step into them.

However, when he was thinking about what to do—

A faint ripple.

The hairs on his neck stood. His instincts, honed sharper than steel, stirred. Someone was nearby.

With a flick of his wrist, a ball of water formed and dropped from his palm, dousing the fire instantly. The smoke hissed and vanished, leaving only the faint smell of ash.

The smell, however, stayed inside the cave, while Vaelen stood, moving soundlessly toward the cave mouth.

Outside, a gentle stream trickled through the clearing, reflecting the forest's dim light.

And there—by the stream—he saw them.

A demihuman man crouched by the water, his rough hands cupping it to drink. Beside him, a small child mimicked the motion, tail flicking nervously.

Vaelen's eyes lit up with relief and intrigue.

"Finally," he breathed, lips curling faintly.

Maybe, just maybe, they knew something—about where to go… and about the so-called dragon and the demihumans he was hunting.

Without hesitation, he stepped out of the shadows and moved toward them.

It was time to make some real progress and find clues as to where he could see the ones he was looking for.

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