As the moments passed and everything finally settled, the scene reopened inside Violet's room. The air still carried the faint scent of medicine and fresh linen. Violet sat close beside Xavier, carefully but insistently feeding him spoonful after spoonful.
"Eat," she urged softly, though there was firmness beneath her tone. "Carbs. Protein. You've been in a coma for far too long. Your body needs it."
Xavier obeyed, still weak, still adjusting to consciousness. The world felt slightly distant, like he had just surfaced from deep water.
It was only when he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the window that he froze.
His hair.
It wasn't brown.
It was gold.
Not just lighter—gold. And longer than before, brushing slightly past where it normally rested.
His heart skipped.
"Why is my hair... gold?"
Violet blinked at him, one brow lifting slowly. "Only now you noticed?"
"Y-Yeah..."
She shrugged lightly. "Well... in that case, I'm not sure."
But Xavier was already spiraling.
Was it Realmheart? No—that couldn't be it. The Eldoria rune markings that normally manifested along the right side of his body were nowhere to be found. He checked instinctively—nothing. His body felt like his base form. No overwhelming ethereal surge. No shift in balance.
So then why?
Before his thoughts could knot any tighter, Violet gently reached up and ran her fingers through his now silk-soft golden curls.
"I love this color on you," she said quietly.
Her voice softened.
"Though I prefer your natural self... I can't help but admire how beautiful you look like this. You stand out."
Her fingers lingered.
"It reminds me of Father's hair. Though yours is brighter... much brighter."
Xavier felt warmth flood his face. Even in his confusion, even in his unease—her words grounded him.
"If you're truly worried," Violet continued, "we can always ask Lord Alcmena."
The name hit him like cold water.
His breathing stilled.
How does she know that name?
How does she know?
Who told her? Anastasia? His friends? Did Lord Alcmena reveal himself? Why would he? He was supposed to remain hidden. His presence in the human realm alone would ignite unrest between dragons and humans. And the fact that he was the Contractor of a mere human child—
Xavier's face had gone pale.
Violet noticed immediately.
She gently rubbed his hair again, calmer than his storming thoughts.
"There's no need to panic, Xavier," she murmured. "I'm already aware of your... situation. The one fate has placed upon you."
His throat tightened. He could barely move.
His head slowly rested against her chest, like it used to when he was younger.
"W-What... do you m-mean by that...?"
"What I mean," Violet replied steadily, "is that I know you possess a contractor. And that your contractor is one of the Two Dragon Kings."
She paused.
"Lord Alcmena D. Regaliath."
"Prince of the Stars."
The room felt impossibly quiet.
Xavier stared ahead, stunned into silence.
"I also know," Violet continued, "that you were chosen by fate itself to become its new hero. The one who walks in the footsteps of those before you. The successor of Saint Sebastian."
Her arms wrapped around him more firmly.
"You are the new master of Excalibur. The Blade of Salvation."
The words weren't accusatory.
They were heavy.
"Your master revealed everything to us," she admitted. "I won't lie—I'm disappointed you carried this alone for so long. Especially something of this magnitude."
Her embrace tightened.
"You are fated for a harsh future. One far different from the peaceful life I wished for you."
Her voice trembled—just barely.
"I know I cannot change your fate. But I will not stand by and watch it break you."
A quiet confession followed.
"You are all I have."
Silence lingered between them.
"So please... don't hide burdens like this from me again. From any of us."
Xavier's gaze lowered.
For once, he didn't resist.
"I won't," he answered softly.
Violet smiled—a warm, fragile smile—as she brushed his curls again. Sunlight filtered through the window, bathing them in a gentle glow that felt almost sacred.
They stayed like that for a while.
No grand words.
Just presence.
It had been so long since they had simply existed beside one another like this—without fear, without urgency. Violet refused to take the moment for granted.
And neither did Xavier.
But peace rarely lingers.
Xavier eventually asked about the others. Why hadn't they visited yet? Where were they?
And then he asked—softly, almost absentmindedly—
"Where is Miss Anastasia?"
The shift was immediate.
Violet's warmth faded—not into coldness, but into something far heavier.
She hesitated.
She did not want to hurt him again.
But secrecy destroys trust.
And love built upon silence becomes nothing more than a fragile contract waiting to shatter.
Violet knew that better than anyone.
So she prepared herself to speak.
————————————————
The scene transitioned to the imperial bureau — a chamber befitting a king.
High ceilings arched overhead, painted with scenes of conquest and divinity. Light filtered through towering windows, casting pale gold across polished marble floors. The air itself felt heavy with authority.
At the center sat Emperor Graviil Ivanovich.
The Saint Knight of Light.
The Illuminating King of Divine Radiance.
He was reviewing documents with meticulous calm, scanning each line twice before placing his seal upon them. His movements were steady. Controlled.
Then the doors burst open.
They slammed against the walls with a thunderous crack.
Xavier staggered inside, drenched in sweat, breathing unevenly, vision unfocused from the sprint.
"G‑Grampa!" he gasped, clutching his chest. "W‑Where is Miss Anastasia?!"
Graviil did not immediately look up.
"Oh. You've awakened," he said evenly, still scanning the parchment before him. "How do you feel? Any dizziness? Pain in your head or body?"
A brief pause.
"And... why is your hair blonde?"
"GRAMPA!"
The shout echoed off the chamber walls.
Xavier's voice cracked — not just with anger, but fear.
"Stop dodging the question! Big Sis told me everything!"
Graviil finally set the parchment down.
Xavier stepped forward, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened.
"The High Councils. The nobles. The dukes — they accused Miss Anastasia of treason! They said she helped me escape the royal family!"
His breathing became more ragged.
"They've put her under severe military watch. Treated her like a criminal."
His eyes burned.
"You're the king, aren't you?! So why didn't you stop them when they labeled her a criminal?!"
Silence.
Graviil remained seated.
Xavier's fists tightened further — skin breaking under his nails.
"Why is she being punished for something I did?" His voice trembled now. "I'm the one who ran away. I'm the one who abandoned everyone."
His words grew harsher — directed at himself more than anyone.
"She only followed me. Like any loyal maid would. She did nothing wrong!"
His voice broke.
"Say something! Isn't she your daughter?! Why are you doing nothing?!"
The air changed.
It wasn't gradual.
It snapped.
A crushing divine aura exploded outward from Graviil like a lightning storm contained within flesh.
The marble floor fractured.
Xavier was forced to his knees instantly, the weight unbearable, breath stolen from his lungs.
For the first time — Graviil stood.
His eyes glowed with blinding light.
"Xavier." His voice thundered, no longer calm. "Do not step out of line."
The pressure intensified.
"Did I — or Jonathan — raise you to shout at your elders?"
Xavier trembled, pinned beneath the sheer force of a monarch who once led battlefields.
"Do you truly believe," Graviil continued, voice edged with fury, "that I am unaware of Anastasia's situation? That I would allow anyone to lay a hand on my daughter?"
His aura flared again.
"Do not insult me with such stupidity."
Xavier's heart pounded violently. He had never seen his grandfather like this.
Never.
Not once.
Graviil's gaze pierced him — not as a loving elder, but as the Saint Knight of Light. A ruler. A warrior. A force of judgment.
Then — he inhaled.
Slowly.
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
When he spoke again, the anger was still there — but restrained.
"Even as king, I cannot ignore the collective will of the dukes and High Councils. Not without shattering the very foundation of the empire."
His jaw tightened.
"If I overruled them outright, it would not be seen as protection. It would be tyranny."
His voice dropped lower.
"My hands were forced."
The aura faded.
Xavier remained kneeling.
Tears slipped down his face silently.
"B‑But... she didn't do anything," he whispered. "It's my fault. Blame me. Punish me instead. I won't resist. I won't complain."
Graviil's expression shifted.
For a moment, he was no longer emperor.
He was a grandfather.
He stepped forward instinctively — wanting to lift Xavier up.
But before he could speak —
Xavier stood abruptly.
He turned.
And he ran out.
The doors slammed shut once more.
Silence returned to the bureau.
Heavier than before.
Graviil slowly raised a hand to his face.
"Why... did I let my emotions erupt like that?"
His voice was quiet now. Rough.
"Damn it... at my age, and I still bottle everything until it explodes."
He exhaled deeply.
Long.
Painfully.
"I know Anastasia is more than a maid to that boy," he murmured. "She is a mother to him. One he never truly had."
His gaze lowered.
"He may not realize it... but anyone with eyes can see it."
"Mother and son..."
Suddenly —
His fist slammed into the desk.
The solid wood shattered instantly.
"Damn it all!" he cursed — unbecoming of a king.
"Why did it have to unfold like this?"
His shoulders sagged slightly.
"Yes... this began with Xavier's decision. But I cannot bring myself to condemn him. Not when I saw the look in his eyes."
His voice grew distant.
"He only wanted to know who he was. Where he came from."
A bitter, hollow breath escaped him.
"Who wouldn't?"
His hands trembled faintly.
"If only I had been the one to guide him to his past. If only I had the means to uncover the truth of my own grandson's origins..."
He closed his eyes.
"Perhaps none of this misery would have been necessary."
Another breath left him.
Longer this time.
Heavier.
And far more painful.
Graviil's hand slowly moved from his face to his chest.
His heart throbbed — not sharply, but with a deep, dragging ache that felt older than the moment itself.
The royal physicians had warned him countless times.
Do not let your pulse rise beyond the threshold. Do not allow emotional strain to trigger another episode.
At his age, another panic attack would not simply pass.
These attacks were not wounds ethereal energy could mend. They were not curses that could be purified. They were born from something far more insidious — a mind worn thin by decades of responsibility, regret, and restraint. And when his mind fractured, even slightly, his aging body paid the price.
He pressed his palm more firmly against his chest and breathed.
Slow. Measured.
"Why is it always like this…" he muttered under his breath.
"Why can I never feel hatred toward those who hurt me? Why do I always search for reasons to forgive them?"
His jaw tightened.
"I'm too damn forgiving."
A hollow laugh escaped him.
"My love for those close to me is too unconditional…"
He exhaled shakily.
"To the point that it has become a blade with two edges instead of a blessing."
"Damn it…"
He did not wish to wound Xavier. Not when the boy had already been carved apart by life itself.
A child taken from his family at birth.
Stripped of his origins before he could even speak.
Denied his culture. His language. His bloodline.
Thrown into the hands of a devil and reduced to a living experiment.
His ethereal core shattered — leaving him crippled in ways most could never comprehend.
And just when he had finally found warmth…
It was stolen from him again.
Jonathan.
Dead.
And now fate sought to tear Anastasia away from him as well — after already placing the weight of the heavens upon his shoulders.
How cruel could destiny be?
A child should not bear the title of hero.
He may dream of it.
But dreaming and carrying it are two entirely different things.
Children are not meant to shoulder the burdens of nations when they can barely make sense of their own grief.
Especially not Xavier.
Graviil leaned back into his chair slowly, staring blankly at the painted ceiling above him. Scenes of past victories and divine blessings looked almost mocking now.
For the first time in many years, he felt something unfamiliar.
Uncertainty.
He did not know what to do.
And that realization frightened him more than any battlefield ever had.
But this… this was the curse of kingship.
To stand at the center of misfortune. To swallow grief without flinching. To carry immeasurable weight every second without letting it show.
It was second nature.
"Anastasia…" he murmured quietly.
His fingers tightened against the armrest.
"As I told you before… this is the only way."
His voice faltered — barely.
"I am truly sorry."
His gaze drifted somewhere far beyond the present moment.
Beyond the shattered desk. Beyond the closed doors Xavier had stormed through.
Back to a private meeting.
A conversation where titles had been set aside.
Where a king spoke not as a monarch…
But as a father.
And where Anastasia had listened — not as a maid…
But as family.