[Leif’s POV—ThorenVald Estate—Training Hall—Later]

The world didn’t feel real anymore. Or maybe it never had been.

The morning air was sharp and thin, the kind that usually cleared my head—but right now, it just made the pressure worse. Every breath scraped like glass.

"Alvar knew," I muttered under my breath.

The words didn’t sound like mine. They felt too heavy. Too final. Caelum’s voice still echoed in my skull—soft, reverent, devastating.

"He knows who you are, Leif. He kept the Book of First Light."

The Book of First Light.

My boots struck the marble floor as I walked, each step echoing too loudly in the empty corridor. Cold light filtered through the high windows, painting the world in the color of old wounds.

When I reached the training hall, the air was alive with sound.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Steel against steel. Rhythmic, precise, perfect—like a heartbeat made of violence.

Alvar’s blade cut through the air, elegant and brutal. Sir Roland met him strike for strike, the two of them locked in a dance that made even the watching knights hold their breath.

They looked beautiful—deadly—and for a second, I almost forgot why I’d come. Almost.

Sir Haldor was the first to notice me.

"Lord Leif!" he called, straightening immediately.

Every head turned. Boots scraped. Knights bowed. The room fell into perfect, suffocating silence.

Alvar turned last, lowering his blade and brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. His expression softened the instant he saw me.

"Oh," he said, slightly breathless but smiling faintly. "Leif... why are you—"

"Let’s have a duel," I said.

The words hit the air like thunder.

Every knight froze. Even Roland blinked in confusion, still halfway through sheathing his sword.

Alvar frowned, the smile faltering. "...What?"

I stepped forward, my own smile curving—too calm, too sharp. "You heard me, Grand Duke Alvar Regulfsson. Let’s have a duel. "

The full name cut sharper than a blade.

A collective, startled silence followed. Knights exchanged looks. Someone audibly swallowed. Because I never called him that. Not in public. Not even in anger.

Alvar’s grip tightened on his sword, his jaw tensing just slightly. "Leif," he said carefully, that diplomat’s tone slipping in. "What’s wrong?"

"Wrong?" I laughed softly—a sound that didn’t belong in my throat. "Oh, nothing. Just thought we could... spar a little. You and me. No titles. No guards. Just a bit of honesty with blades instead of words."

The knights went absolutely still. No one even breathed.

A whisper slipped through the air like wind through glass.

"Do you think we should leave?"

Another voice, quieter. "Better we should."

They didn’t wait for permission. Alvar’s gaze flicked toward them—cold, sharp, and wordless—and the entire squad scurried for the doors like terrified pigeons.

The heavy oak shut behind them with a thud.

Silence.

Only the faint hum of the air remained, electric with everything unsaid. I reached down, fingers curling around the sword Sir Roland had left against the wall. The metal felt cool. Too light for what I wanted to say.

I stepped forward, the sound of my boots echoing against the marble. "Now..." I lifted the blade, pointing it toward him. "Shall we?"

Alvar’s jaw flexed. "Leif—"

"Don’t," I cut in, voice calm in a way that felt dangerous. "If you didn’t want this, you shouldn’t have lied."

He frowned, confusion flickering across his face. "Lied? Leif, what lie—"

CLANG!

The steel screamed as I struck first. The shock rattled through the hall, sparks scattering between us. The knights outside probably flinched.

I didn’t care.

He barely blocked the hit—instinct more than preparation—eyes wide as our blades locked between us.

I leaned forward, voice low, smiling sweetly. "My love..."

Another step. Another strike. CLANG!

"You," I hissed, "knew I was—"

CLANG!

"—the Seraph King."

His eyes blew wide, pupils shrinking in shock. "How did you—"

CLANG!

I didn’t let him finish. Steel crashed against steel again, harder this time. The vibration ran up my arm, hot and clean. The world around us blurred—the echo of each hit bouncing off the stone like thunder.

Alvar stumbled half a step back, parrying desperately as I pressed forward. "Leif—Leif, wait! "

"Why?" I smiled tightly, twisting my blade around his guard. "So you can hide something from me?"

He gritted his teeth, muscles flexing as he blocked. "I never meant to hide—I—"

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

The sound of steel tore through the air like thunder. Sparks danced, golden and blue, as our swords met again and again—our rhythm sharp, vicious, and too intimate to be just combat.

He lunged—fast. Too fast. For a second our blades kissed midair before sliding apart, the space between us trembling with heat. The light around us pulsed gold where they met, humming like the air itself remembered our names.

"Leif—" he gasped, chest rising and falling. "I was just trying to protect you."

My laugh came out cracked and dangerous. "Protect me?" I swung again, the blade cutting through the air. "From what, Alvar?"

He ducked low, too close, too quick—his body brushing past mine as he caught my wrist mid-strike.

Our faces were inches apart. His breath hit my cheek, warm and uneven. His eyes—storm blue, burning with something like guilt—locked onto mine.

"From the Devil."

Everything stopped.

My blade trembled in his grip. My heartbeat stuttered once—then roared to life again, too loud, too fast.

"You..." my voice broke, "...you knew."

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just nodded—once, slow, heavy.

And then he twisted his wrist, disarming me with a clean motion. My sword clattered to the floor, sliding across the marble with a cold echo.

Alvar stood there, panting, the faint glow of his aura bleeding through his control. He tossed my sword aside and took a step closer.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I knew."

The light behind him flickered, painting his hair in fire and frost.

"I knew the Devil had awakened, Leif. I also knew who had awakened it. And I..." his voice cracked, soft and bare, "... I didn’t want you to face him alone."

I stared, words clawing their way up my throat but dying before they reached air.

I stared—words clawing their way up my throat but dying before they could escape.

"Who..." My voice cracked. "Who awakened the devil, Alvar?"

He hesitated. I could see it—the flicker of conflict behind his eyes, the way his hand flexed once around the hilt of his sword.

He didn’t want to say it.But he did anyway.

"Crown Prince Arden."

The name hit like a blade.

I blinked once. Twice."Arden?" My breath caught. "The Crown Prince ?"

His silence was answer enough.

I staggered a half-step back, shaking my head. "But—why? He has everything. Power. Blood. The throne. Why would he—"

"I don’t know," Alvar said quietly, cutting me off. His tone wasn’t cold anymore—it was tired, the kind of tired that seeps into your bones. "Maybe envy. Maybe desperation. Maybe something darker whispered too close for him to resist."

I wanted to argue. To deny. To throw the sword again just to feel something that wasn’t disbelief clawing through my ribs.

But before I could say anything, he reached out.

A thumb brushed across my cheek, wiping away the sweat—I hadn’t realized it was there. The gesture was slow. Familiar. Disarming.

"I just wanted to protect you, my love," he whispered, voice cracking somewhere between guilt and tenderness. "This was my fault. I thought I could handle it alone. That I could keep you away from all this."

His thumb lingered near the corner of my mouth, trembling slightly. "But I can’t. Not from this. Not from him. Trust me, Leif... I can’t let anything happen to you."

Something inside me twisted—anger folding into exhaustion, exhaustion into ache.

I sighed, rubbing at my temple. "All I ever wanted was a quiet life," I muttered. "A free life. Away from nobles and prophecies and—this." I gestured weakly around us. "Why can’t that ever be enough?"

He didn’t answer. He just stepped closer and pulled me into his arms. For a second, I stiffened. But then... I didn’t.

His embrace was warm and steady—the kind of warmth that seeps through bone, unmaking fear, and silencing the noise in your head. His breath brushed the side of my neck, a quiet promise in the way he held me tighter than he probably meant to.

"Because," he murmured against my hair, "you were never meant to live quietly."

I let out a shaky laugh. "Not helping."

He smiled faintly, his lips ghosting over my temple. "Then let me say something you do want to hear."

"Go ahead," I mumbled, my voice muffled against his chest.

"We’ll find a way," he said softly. "We’ll destroy the Devil before he becomes stronger. Before he even remembers your name."

I closed my eyes, breathing him in—the faint scent of steel and smoke and the safety.

"Yes..." I whispered. "Together."

He pressed his forehead to mine, the faintest hum of energy sparking where our skin met. "Always."

For a long moment, the world felt still.

The door creaked open. Sir Roland stepped in, bowing hastily when he realized the scene he’d walked into.

"My lord," he began, clearing his throat, "forgive the intrusion."

Alvar turned, his arm still around me. "What is it?"

Roland straightened, his expression a mix of disbelief and relief. "It’s—Nick, my lord. He’s awake."

My breath caught. I pulled away from Alvar instantly. "What?"

"He just woke moments ago," Roland said. "Eryndor sent me to fetch you."

I didn’t wait for more. My feet were already moving, every muscle in my body reacting before thought could catch up.

"Let’s go," I said, brushing past him.