“The fever spiked suddenly,” the physician said urgently.
“This is maddening. Truly,” Calek groaned, covering his face with his hands.
When he saw the child’s head slump again, he nearly felt like collapsing himself.
“How could you not realize your body was burning up like this?”
“And you, Your Excellency,” the physician added, shooting a mildly accusatory glance while examining the small figure.
“How could you miss this right beside you? I also explicitly advised against overexertion.”
“The child acted completely unbothered… Ugh. I have no excuses.”
He couldn’t fathom why the child had endured the pain silently.
Was I truly so frightening?
He didn’t know. He really didn’t.
If it had been Alex…
Would Alex have noticed the child’s suffering before exhaustion claimed them?
After the physician reiterated strict bed rest and left, Calek remained, staring at the sleeping child with conflicted eyes. Ruska approached quietly from behind.
“Your Excellency, the parade cleanup is nearly complete.”
Calek rubbed his tired face.
“But the longer I look, the stranger it feels,” Ruska murmured suddenly, crouching to study Ririn’s face.
“Their hair was so lovely,” he said, touching the pink strands now chopped bluntly at the jawline.
“Was it truly due to the magical beast?”
“…Yes,” Calek replied tersely, unable to elaborate on Ririn’s powers.
His expression hardened again at the sight of the shorn hair—a reaction he’d been fighting all day.
Sighs escaped him relentlessly. His fists clenched, and self-directed fury simmered beneath his calm.
Because…
It ached. Seeing those carelessly severed locks.
Not merely because Ririn’s hair was shorter.
But because this child—this tiny, reckless child—had thrown themselves into danger to activate an artifact. Deliberately or not, they’d sacrificed themselves to protect him.
A child should never shield an adult.
The truth carved itself deeper into his mind, tightening the crease between his brows.
“Don’t be angry…”
Ririn’s fragile voice replayed in his thoughts.
He’d only been watching with worry, yet the child had mistaken his concern for rage.
He hadn’t been angry.
But through their eyes… I suppose it might seem so.
Then a memory flickered—a grinning fool who’d mastered nothing but jokes and nonsense.
“Ah… So that’s why Alex…”
“Sir?”
“…Made those expressions.”
Alex had known his own flaws. Perhaps he’d suppressed his darker impulses deliberately.
To keep the child from fearing him.
Calek forced his brow to relax and meticulously adjusted Ririn’s blanket.
Soft, even breaths filled the silence.
“Ruska. Progress on the orphanage search?”
“Ah, the facility for Ririn and Theo next month? I’ve shortlisted candidates. Shall I present them?”
Ruska sifted through towering paperwork.
“Scrap it. Build a new one.”
“…Pardon?”
“It needs to be safer. Larger. And we’ll fund their livelihoods into adulthood.”
The incident had clarified things.
Regardless of 27-year-old Alex’s choices, Ririn mattered now—deeply.
Their safety permitted no compromises.
“Why not let them stay here, then?”
“If they’re caught in another disaster like today, they’ll lose more than hair next time.”
Calek remembered too well storing away his cherished tin soldier as a boy.
Some treasures required distance.
Unresolved problems loomed: the divine beast crisis, looming ducal rivalries, imperial succession tensions, and above all…
The Magic Tower’s suspicious activity.
Was this why Alex hid himself away?
Without Calek’s burdens, Alex could’ve raised a child peacefully.
“Tsk.”
That fool.
If those years meant so much, why forget?
They might all have been happy.
“…Understood. But construction takes time. Far longer than a month.”
“I’m aware. Until then…”
Calek brushed Ririn’s hair gently.
“…we guard them closely.”
The gesture felt oddly familiar.
A shadowed alley.
A hulking man in black robes smirked crookedly.
“Ririn…,” he drawled.
The hem of his mage’s robe rippled, embroidered waves glinting.
“A charming name.”
He’d observed everything—Ririn’s magic, the dispelled illusion on the horse, Elisa’s near-fatal carriage wreck. The chaos had masked his spellwork perfectly.
To think they saved Elisa Wintervalt.
He’d anticipated her funeral today. Ririn’s power exceeded expectations—even wielding innate magic.
No matter. This cements their place in the ducal house.
His chuckle slithered through the dark.
Grow well, little one. Become my useful child.
Until the appointed hour.
I’ll claim you when the time comes.
His decades-old plan remained flawless.
So long as Calek Wintervalt stays amnesiac.
Without exception.
“Any leads on Mother’s carriage incident?” Calek asked.
The parade’s cancellation was inevitable—the century’s first spontaneous labyrinth had thrown the palace into chaos.
“None. The horse and carriage show no defects. It defies logic…”
“This pattern reeks of sabotage. Dig deeper. Focus on…”
He paused, voice dropping.
“…the Magic Tower.”
Ruska frowned. “But other ducal houses could orchestrate this. You’re not exactly… diplomatic.”
“Today’s labyrinth provided perfect cover for an attack. Who else manipulates labyrinths?”
“You’re suggesting…” Ruska’s eyes narrowed.
“…the Tower predicted it? Hid it to sabotage us?”
Labyrinth forecasts were the Tower’s domain, using their founder’s ancient device.
“Why?”
“Speculation only. Investigate discreetly.”
“Understood. Damn Tower rats. My gratitude for the overtime,” Ruska grumbled, scrawling notes.
Calek’s gaze lingered on Ririn.
Inconsistencies remain.
How had the child navigated the capital’s streets alone? Why insist on joining the parade?
Almost as if they foresaw the accident.
He clicked his tongue, banishing the thought.
Impossible.
Unique magic didn’t grant clairvoyance. Such power belonged to myths.
Coincidence. Nothing more.
He tucked Ririn’s plump leg under the blanket, soothed by their drowsy murmurs.
As he exited, a familiar silhouette waited by the door.
