[Leif’s POV—ThorenVald Estate, Office—Two Days Later]

It had been two days.

Two long, sleepless, fragile days since Nick fell unconscious. He still hadn’t woken up, though Eryndor kept assuring me that his pulse was steady, his energy stabilizing, and his body simply... resting.

"Not dangerous," he said.

But every time I looked at that still, pale face — I wondered if he was lying just to stop me from shattering again.

Two days—and everything had changed.

I’d told Father. Mother. And even my future mother-in-law. About Zephyy . About Luminael . About the corruption .

Father’s reaction had been... not what I expected.

He didn’t rage. Didn’t panic. He simply looked at me—long, heavy, searching—then placed a firm hand on my shoulder.

"It’s your life, Leif," he said quietly. "Only you have the right to decide how to live it."

That was it. No lecture. No hesitation. Just quiet trust.

Crisis: miraculously averted. I half-expected a scolding because I was the choosen Vessel he was looking for. Instead, I got... freedom. That terrified me more than anger ever could.

Meanwhile, Alvar had done what he promised.

The imperial guests were gone. The banners were stripped. The servants were dismissed.

Except one.

The only royal still inside Frojnholm territory—the second prince.

And now...

SLAM!!!

My desk rattled as his palm struck it, echoing across the office. Scrolls rolled off the edge. Ink splattered. Zephyy, who’d been napping on the corner, hissed in protest and leapt to the shelf.

"I’m not going back!"

Second Prince Aramis’ voice cracked like a whip. His eyes burned—not with arrogance, like his brother’s, but with something wild. Something broken.

I leaned back slowly in my chair, folding my arms. "My orders were clear," I said evenly. "All imperials were to return to the capital and not to enter here without my permission. This is my territory second prince and I am not letting anyone who has tied himself with the devil in my territory."

"I said I’m not going back!" he snapped again, chest heaving. "You don’t understand—if I return to the palace right now, I’ll die."

I stared. "...Excuse me?"

He leaned forward across the desk, hands shaking. "You think Arden’s corruption was coincidence? You think it was some random accident? It wasn’t. It’s spreading. He’s infected. And anyone who defies him—anyone—disappears."

For a moment, I didn’t speak. Because there it was again. That word. Corruption. The stain that ate through purity, power, and sanity alike.

"...And what are you saying, exactly?" I asked quietly.

"That the Devil isn’t bound to one man anymore," he whispered. "It’s crawling into the royal bloodline."

My pulse slowed. "That’s a bold accusation, Your Highness."

He laughed bitterly. "You think I care about bold? I watched my own brother whisper to shadows. I saw the walls bleed black when he prayed. You think I’m here for power? I’m here because I want to live."

He took a shuddering breath, and then—so softly it almost didn’t sound like him—"And because... I’m meant to be beside you. That’s my destiny, Leif."

I froze.

"...Your what?"

He met my eyes. No madness. No mockery. Just conviction, trembling and raw."It’s been written since the light first fell. I belong beside you."

The silence that followed was deafening.

I exhaled slowly, forcing calm into my voice. "I decide who stays here, Second Prince. And my decision..." I reached down, scooping up a startled Zephyy, whose tail lashed in protest. "...is final."

He blinked.

"No imperial will remain within my borders," I said, turning for the door. "So please, pack your things and leave while you can—otherwise, don’t expect me to be kind when I remove you."

I started to walk away—

—and a hand closed around mine.

Cold. Trembling. Desperate.

I turned, startled, just as the prince— the Second Prince of the Empire —dropped to his knees.

"Your Highness—what are you doing?" I hissed.

"Please, Leif," he whispered. "Don’t abandon me. You promised."

I blinked. "What promise—?"

His grip tightened, his voice cracking. "You promised to take me under you. You said... I’d never be alone again."

I stumbled a step back, my heart hammering. "Stand up, Caelum. Please."

But he didn’t. He just knelt there, clutching my hand like a drowning man clings to air.

"If I go back," he said hoarsely, "he’ll kill me. Just like last time."

My breath caught. "Last time?"

He looked up—and for the first time, I saw something behind his eyes. Not fear. Not madness. Memory.

"Yes," he whispered. "Last time, when I fled from the throne, when I disobeyed the dark whisper—he tied me in my chamber. Tried to kill me when he found who I am."

I blinked. "...You what?"

His lips trembled. "I came here to find you, my Seraph King. I found your light even in this mortal shell."

My mind went blank.

"...Flew away," I repeated numbly. "You speak like you’re not even human."

Before he could answer, a low growl rose against my chest. Zephyy’s fur stood up, his voice curling low and grim in my mind.

"He’s not human, Master."

I turned sharply. "What?"

Zephyy’s pupils thinned. "He’s not human. He’s hiding his essence, but I can smell it now that he’s desperate. He’s—"

The air shifted.

Light—pale, trembling—flared around the prince’s shoulders. The faint shimmer of feathers—half-formed, translucent—spread from his back before fading again.

"...A white angel," Zephyy finished.

My heart lurched into my throat. "You... you’re an angel?"

Caelum looked up, his expression cracked wide open—grief, relief, and devotion all bleeding together like light through shattered glass.

"Yes," he whispered. "I was. I am. Your first guard."

His voice trembled as he pressed a hand against his chest. "I am the descendant of the one who fell with you when you chose to seal the Devil. The world called us the White Wing. I carry his blood—Aramis’s blood."

My mouth went dry. "...But you’re a prince. How can that even be possible?"

Caelum’s gaze met mine, uncertain and haunted. "I didn’t know either. Not until recently. I only remember an old woman... waking me. Telling me who I was."

My heart skipped. "An old woman?"

He nodded slowly. "She said my lineage was hidden for a reason. That I would find you when the Devil rose again."

I went still.

...An old woman.

Could it be—Her?

Caelum’s voice cracked, dragging me back to the present. "From that day, I tried to reach you. I tried, Leif. But before I could—my brother found out. Arden discovered what I was. He locked me away. Spread his poison through the palace. Called me cursed. Called me mad."

He swallowed hard, his voice collapsing into a plea. "Please, Leif—no, my King —don’t abandon me again. I endured everything... just to find you."

He bowed low, tears splattering against the marble floor. The sound echoed faintly, soft but sharp enough to pierce.

I took a step back, trembling, Zephyy’s claws digging lightly into my sleeve as though to ground me.

"Master," he muttered, voice low, "something’s changing in him. Look—"

And then I saw it. Etched faintly on Caelum’s collarbone—glowing through the tear in his shirt—was a mark.

A sigil.

A crest of pure light, faint but radiant.

My breath caught. I knew that shape.

I had seen it before— In the dreams. In the marble halls of endless white.

The crest of the Seventh Choir.

My voice came out as a whisper, barely holding together. "...You really are one of them."

He nodded weakly. "I never stopped waiting for your return."

The frost on the walls cracked, gold veins threading through the white. The air shimmered like the echo of a song I never remembered.

And deep inside my chest—beneath ribs, beneath breath, beneath the fragile illusion of being human—something ancient stirred.

Something that reminded him.

His wings. His vow. His fall.

"Leif..." Zephyy murmured warily. "Your seal—it’s responding to him."

I didn’t listen. I didn’t want to listen. I was done listening to voices in my head, celestial drama, and glowing chest phenomena.

I just exhaled, rubbing my temple. "Alright. Fine. Get up."

Caelum blinked, startled. "...What?"

"You can stay here," I muttered, waving a hand. "Until we figure out what’s going on. Don’t make me regret it."

For a heartbeat he just stared—then light broke across his face like dawn after war. He stood, and before I could take a step back, he lunged forward and—

"H-Hey—!"

He hugged me.

"Thank you, Leif," he breathed, voice muffled against my shoulder. "I knew you’d recognize me. I knew you’d remember."

"Yeah, well—congratulations on existing. Now please step away before Alvar sees you like this and commits treason by jealousy."

He froze. Then stepped back so fast he nearly tripped over his own royal boots. His entire aura still sparkled, wings flickering faintly in excitement.

Zephyy leapt from the table and landed squarely on his shoulder, tail curling like a question mark.

"Hey, angel," he sniffed suspiciously , "when exactly did you wake up from your little celestial nap?"

I groaned, stretching my arms. "Zephyy, come here. He can’t hear you."

Caelum tilted his head. "Oh, but I can, Leif."

"What?"

He smiled faintly, a little too serenely for my sanity. "We who share your light can hear each other easily. That’s the gift you gave us—your voice in all our hearts."

...

I stared flatly.

"...Fantastic," I said after a long pause. "So not only can my sword talk, my dragon-cat complains, and my house glows at random—but now the royalty-angel hybrid can eavesdrop on telepathic group chats. Great. Perfect. Wonderful."

Zephyy snorted. "You’re handling divinity so well, Master."

"Alright, fine. Since apparently the universe refuses to let me have peace—give me what I need. Information. The Seraph King. Who was he?"

Caelum straightened, expression shifting to something softer—almost reverent. "You’ll find what you’re looking for soon. Alvar has the book."

That made me blink. "...What?"

He smiled, calm and infuriating. "The Book of First Light. He kept it safe. He knows who you are, Leif. You can get that from him."

The world tilted. My pulse faltered.

"...Alvar?" I whispered.

Caelum nodded. "Yes. He knew you were the Seraph King."

The words hit like a blade sliding under the ribs—slow, quiet, fatal. I stood there, frozen, every piece of me trying to catch up to what I’d just heard.

Outside, the frost finally melted on the glass. Inside, my breath turned to smoke.