[Leif’s POV—ThorenVald Estate, Dawn After the Corruption]

The night refused to end.

The candles had burned themselves to ghosts, their wax spilling down the table like melted bones. Every corridor in the ThorenVald estate still smelled faintly of ash and antiseptic. Outside, dawn was trying to rise—soft and pale—but inside these walls, light didn’t feel welcome.

Nick still lay in the healer wing, breathing in a shallow, stubborn rhythm. Zephyy hadn’t moved from his bedside all night, tail flicking every few seconds like a silent metronome of anxiety.

And me? I couldn’t sleep.

Because how could I—when I had let the devil walk straight through my door?

The frost was spreading across the balcony window, each tendril of ice crawling upward like the world was freezing from the inside out. Every breath fogged the glass, then vanished too quickly—like even the air didn’t want to stay near me for long.

My reflection stared back: pale, hollow-eyed, and jaw tight. Not a ruler. Not a hero. Just someone trying not to fall apart before morning.

Knock, knock!

I blinked. "Come in."

The door creaked open, and Daren stepped in—broad shoulders, soot still clinging to his beard, and the smell of forge and smoke following him like a shadow.

"You wanted to see me, Leif?" His tone was quieter than usual. No booming laughter. No misplaced confidence. Just... concern.

I nodded, motioning him closer. "You must’ve heard what happened."

He exhaled through his nose. "Aye. Word spreads fast, even through stone walls. The boy—Nick, right? Heard he got hit with corruption. And..." His eyes flicked to my side. "You’ve got yourself a divine sword now."

"Had," I muttered, reaching for the table.

Luminael lay there—silent, dim, with cracks spiderwebbed through the blade like old lightning scars.

I lifted him gently, his once-brilliant surface dull now, cold against my palm. "He hasn’t said a word since he healed Nick. It’s like he burned himself out saving Nick." I extended the sword toward Daren. "Can you fix him?"

The dwarf’s thick fingers brushed the hilt reverently, almost afraid to touch it.

He studied the fractures for a long time, eyes narrowing in thought. Then he finally said, slow and honest, "I can fix metal, Leif. Not divinity. That’s not my job."

My throat tightened. "So... you can’t bring him back?"

Daren smiled faintly—a tired, knowing thing. "That’s not what I said."

I blinked. "Then what do you mean?"

He looked up, eyes catching the pale morning light. "I can repair the shell—polish it, reinforce the cracks, and make sure the body doesn’t shatter the next time it’s used. But the soul of this sword..." He touched the glowing fissure with a gentle thumb. "That’s between you and him."

My brow furrowed. "Between me... and him?"

"Aye." Daren’s voice softened—like someone teaching a child how to listen to thunder. "The elves told me something. Said your divine energy—your source —is sealed."

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "If that’s true, lad... it’s not the sword that needs mending."

I felt my stomach drop. "You’re saying I have to... unseal myself."

He nodded once. "That’s the only way Luminael wakes again. He’s your reflection, your echo. When you broke, he cracked. Fix what’s chained inside you, and you’ll hear him again."

I rubbed my temples, an exhausted laugh escaping me. "That’s great, Daren. Wonderful. Except—I don’t even know how to unseal something I didn’t even know existed until a week ago."

Daren straightened, the weight of years in his stance. "You’ll find a way. You always do. You’ve got the kind of luck that drags miracles out of disasters."

"Luck?" I muttered. "Feels more like a curse lately."

He chuckled under his breath, the sound like soft hammer strikes. "Same thing when the gods are watching."

I watched him take Luminael carefully into his arms, wrapping the blade in cloth. The light flickered faintly—weak, but there. Like the last spark in dying coals.

"Don’t worry, lad," Daren said quietly. "I’ll keep him safe until you’re ready to bring him back."

I hesitated. "Daren..."

He stopped at the door, turning slightly.

"What if I can’t?" I asked. "What if I can’t unseal whatever’s inside me? What if Luminael stays broken?"

Daren smiled—the kind that only old souls could pull off. "Then maybe it’s time you stop asking what you can’t do and start remembering who you were before you forgot."

I frowned. "...What?"

He grinned wider. "You’ll see, Leif. Just remember this—even a sealed flame still burns. It’s just waiting for air."

He turned to leave, his voice fading with the creak of the door. "I know you’ll find your way, lad. Until then... take care of yourself."

The door shut softly behind him.

And I stood there, alone again, staring at the place where Luminael had been—the faint shimmer of gold still ghosting my fingertips.

"Unseal myself..." I muttered under my breath. "Yeah. Sure. Let me just... download the tutorial real quick."

Outside, the frost cracked under the first touch of sunlight. And for the first time that night—it didn’t melt. The cold lingered. The kind that didn’t belong to the weather but to the air after truth starts breathing down your neck.

I rubbed my thumb against the faint golden shimmer still on my fingertips, staring at where Luminael had been.

Unseal myself...

The words looped again and again, like a whisper trapped between my ribs.

"What does that even mean?" I muttered. "Break open my chest and hope a tutorial pops out?"

My laugh came out tired and hollow. I didn’t have time to think about that, not when corruption still pulsed somewhere in this estate. Not when the Imperials were leaving too quietly. Not when the frost refused to melt.

Knock. Knock.

The door opened just enough for a tall figure to peek through—Baron Sigurd, his uniform immaculate, his voice carrying that formal calm that usually meant bad news wrapped in protocol .

"My lord," he said, bowing slightly. "His Grace requests your presence in your office, He said..."He hesitated, glancing at me. "...It’s urgent."

I blinked once, then exhaled through my nose. "Of course it is."

Because of course it was.

I already knew what this was about.The drago in the courtyard. The sword that glowed like a god’s heartbeat. The boy who nearly died.

My father didn’t summon people for small talk. He summoned people when truth had to be cornered.

I ran a hand through my hair, grabbed my coat, and straightened up. "I’ll be there in a moment."

Sigurd nodded, relief flickering briefly across his face. "Shall I escort you, my lord?"

"No need," I said quietly, already stepping past him. "This is a walk I need to take myself."

He bowed again. "Understood, my lord."

As he retreated down the corridor, I glanced once more at the empty table—at the faint outline where Luminael had rested, at the shards of light still glimmering weakly in the air.

"I guess it’s time," I murmured.

Time to stop dodging questions. Time to tell Father and Mother everything. Time to stop pretending I’m just borrowing this life.

Maybe... maybe they’d have answers to what I couldn’t find. Maybe—just maybe—I may find out about the real Leif .

I squared my shoulders and started down the hall, footsteps echoing softly against the marble.

"Alright," I said under my breath. "Let’s get this over with."

***

[Al var’s Pov—The Second Building—Same Time]

"—HOW DARE YOU, GRAND DUKE!"

Crown Prince Arden’s roar rattled the glass chandeliers. His voice cracked through the gilded hall like thunder rolling over polished marble.

"How dare you accuse the Imperial family of corruption!" His eyes blazed with insulted pride, though the edge of panic hid poorly behind it. "Do you think we consort with devils? Do you understand the weight of that accusation? The consequences it carries?"

I didn’t flinch.

Not when he shouted. Not when his boots struck the marble like drums of war.

Behind me, Sir Haldor and Sir Renold stood still as stone — the ThorenVald crest on their cloaks glinting faintly in the sunlight filtering through the cracked window. A few knights stood by the door with Crimson packs.

I took a slow breath, then looked at him. Just looked.

Cold. Silent. Measuring.

"Do you," I asked softly, "know what happened here, Your Highness ?"

His jaw tightened. "I do not care what happened to one insignificant servant! But for you — a mere duke — to accuse a royal of harboring corruption—"

He stepped forward, his face inches from mine, voice venomous. "You tread a dangerous path. This kind of insult can lead to war , Grand Duke. And you know what that means."

He leaned in, the gold of his uniform gleaming with false light. "If war breaks out... your territory will fall before the sun sets. Your lands burned. Your name erased. It won’t take a single day for your people to lie dead in the dirt."

A smirk curved my lips before he even finished.

War.

How casually these pampered royals spoke of blood they’d never seen.

I took one step forward. Slow. Deliberate. The sound of my boots against marble was louder than his threats.

"Then why don’t you try?" I said, voice low—almost kind.

He blinked. "What—?"

"Try to start a war." I tilted my head, eyes narrowing. "And let’s see which noble houses stand beside you when the first blood spills."

Arden’s smugness faltered.

I continued—softly, but the words sliced sharper than any blade. "Don’t forget, Your Highness — without ThorenVald and Regulfsson, your crown is nothing but a jewel on a frightened boy’s head."

"So," I added, stepping close enough for him to see his reflection in my eyes. "Think a thousand times before you speak to me of consequences."

Silence.

A tense, choking silence.

Then Arden’s hands clenched into fists so tight the veins stood out across his skin. His expression twisted—pride burning into rage, rage into something darker.

Something wrong.

The air changed.

It felt heavier. Colder. Like oil spreading through clear water.

And then—His pupils flickered. For half a heartbeat, black swallowed the blue as if a devil consumed him.